The Journey Home
by RyoshiMorino
Summary: Tarrin only wanted to see his father's homeland and try to carve out a life for himself, but as fate would have it, he would do things he never thought he would do. Rated M for violence, gore, swearing, and future lemons. All standard disclaimers apply.
1. Chapter 1

**_1: Unbound_**

* * *

Tarrin cursed his luck when the first drop of rain fell against his skin. The road to Whiterun was cold enough with him only wearing a tunic and leggings so thin that he may as well not be wearing them at all, but the rain would soak him clean through and most likely freeze him to death when the night came. The young fifteen - year - old growled as more droplets started falling.

"I should have stayed in Falkreath," he muttered to himself, quickening his pace, "At least I could have worked up enough coin to buy a bloody good horse!" The past two days had seen the young man in the small hold, spending a few nights in comfort and doing a few odd jobs around to put a few coins in his pouch.

He'd even gotten on well with the Jarl of the hold. He had been a fairly flippant sort of man, not much older than himself, which he respected when he thought of someone close to his age being a Jarl of a city like Falkreath. His steward had, to his surprise, been a kindhearted Altmer, a High Elf, and she had helped him in finding a few easy jobs to help him on his way.

Thanks to her, Tarrin was fifty coins richer than when he crossed the border.

Still, in the past week in coming to the cold land, he felt he should have remained in Cyrodil with his family...though he couldn't be counted as a true Imperial. His father had been a pure-blooded Nord of Skyrim, which is what prompted him to make the journey. He had wanted to see the country that his father had spoke of when he was a child of five. To see that great mountains covered with snow, and the vast evergreen forests that covered the lowlands.

_It is a wild place,_ his father had told him once, _a man must be strong to make a living there. To farm in the lowland fields, mine in the high mountains in the deadly cold, or fight for his right to live...Tarrin, Skyrim can change a man within a moment's thought. You could lead the life of the farmer, and the next thing you know, you have a sword in your had just so you can keep raiders away from your crop_.

Tarrin smiled at those memories. His father had been a great man. Strong and powerful enough to fight off a troll with his bare hands. A feet he had witnessed when one of the monsters had attacked their farm in the dead of winter looking for food...that had been his downfall. Though he had killed the troll, the troll had raked its enormous clawed-hands across his chest in deep gashes that no potion or magic could heal.

After his death, Tarrin had made up his mind, and, on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, he packed his things and stole away in the middle of the night, knowing that his remaining family, particularly his mother, would have his hide for even thinking of leaving.

"And now look where I am," he muttered as his clothes became soaked because of the rain. "Trudging through a forest, in a land I don't know without even a blasted map! Oh, yes, Tarrin, very smart, very smart indeed!" He berated himself, "I should have asked someone if they had one to spare!"

"Who goes there!"

Tarrin jerked his head up at the unfamiliar voice, looking around to find it source, then spoke, "Just a weary traveler caught in the rain. I have no weapons to speak of but a small dagger at my hip."

Suddenly the light of a torch flamed to life in the trees. The man holding the torch was a large, muscled man, almost like his father, except he was blonde-haired, and had a larger nose.

"I am Rayof of Riverwood," the man said, holding the torch high so he could see the boy's face, "I don't know your face. Are you a Nord?"

"Half," Tarrin said, raising a hand to shield his eyes, "My mother was an Imperial, and my father was Nordic."

Rayof grunted, "Where do you stand then?"

"What do you mean?" Tarrin asked in confusion, then took in the armor Rayof wore. It was blue, with a grey cloak over his shoulder, and warm fur-lined boots.

"I mean in the war, boy, are you with the Imperials, or the true sons of Skyrim?" Rayof clariffied, placing his right hand on his hip while he still held the torch aloft, "If you side - "

"Hold on a moment," Tarrin said, holding up his hands, "I was not aware of the war. I thought Skyrim was at peace, else I may not have come here."

Rayof growled, "Why did you come here, then, Lad? You have the look of a farm boy, not ever having held a sword in his life, or even felt the touch of a woman."

Tarrin blushed at the last bit of his statement, "My business in this country is my own, but if you must know, I came because of my father." Tarrin said, glowering at the man, who was more a few feet taller than he was, "he spoke of Skyrim often when I was small, and told me that it was the place men go to prove their worth...so I suppose you could say I came here to find out what it means to be a Nord."

Ralof, seeming to accept this, smiled and held out his hand, "Welcome to Skyrim, brother Nord." Tarrin smiled and gladly took his hand and shook it. "Come, my comrades and I have a fire going further into the trees. You can have one of our spare tents as well. The night comes early this time of year, and a wolf or troll wouldn't mind catching a little fellow like you in the dark."

"Lead the way master Ralof," Tarrin chuckled nervously.

"Ah, you better hand over that dagger of your's first," the Nord said, holding out his hand again, "You may not look it, but you could still slip my throat or stab me in the back."

"Any other day I would take that as an insult," the boy said, reaching for his dagger, before handing it to him, "But I'm too cold to care right now. And you have a fair point."

"Smart boy," Ralof smiled, "Come, let's get out of the rain."

Tarrin followed him into the forest, staying close so he wouldn't stumble from the dark path, but soon he saw the light of another fire. Four more men and one woman were seated around it, not bothered by the rain as the tree branches kept them relatively dry. One of them was a very big man, dressed in black robes, and had an air of power around him. Said man looked up at his companion, and noticed the newcomer. "Who've you brought with you, Ralof? A spy?"

"Just a boy stumbling around in the dark," Ralof said truthfully, "His name is Tarrin of Cyrodil."

"An Imperial?" One of the others spat.

"Only half," Tarrin explained for himself. "I'm half Nord."

"Hmph, he picked a fine time to come to Skyrim," the man in black said, poking at the fire, "The Imperials are taking over this place, and the damned Elves aren't helping matters."

"Elves?" Tarring queried, "I've only met one Elf while I've been here, and she was fairly nice."

"Ha! Since you came from Falkreath's direction, that must have been Nenya," another warrior said, gesturing for him to sit, "She's been here longer than most of her kin. But the Thalmor are the ones that we need to worry about. They seem to have the emperor in the palm of their hands."

"Olaf, enough of Elves already," said the man in black, "It's not enough that they called my honor into question, but they have turned half of Skyrim against me. If something's not done soon, then I might as well place myself on the headmen's block myself."

Tarring seated himself on a log, looking at the man curiously, "Are you some sort of lord?"

"Tarrin, allow me to introduce Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim," Ralof said, though he said this a little bitterly.

"A king?!" Tarring gasped, nearly slipping off his stump, quickly bowing his head, "Forgive me if I said anything rude, my lord!"

"Stop sniveling!" Ulfric snapped, "I may be the true king, but not yet."

Tarrin raised his head, "If I may ask, sir, why not?"

Ulfric sighed, throwing his stick into the fire, "How much do you know about the politics here, boy?"

"Not much," Tarrin said, "I just know that the land is ruled by a king that lords over several holdings."

"That's the simple version of it, yes, but the succession of the king or queen is done through battle," Ulfric said, "I fought and defeated the king in single combat. But it was deemed and unfair fight because I used the Voice to disarm him before I killed him."

The boy stared at the man with wide eyes, "The Voice? Really? I thought that was a legend?"

"It can be learned," Ulfric said, "It took me years to learn that shout. But a lot of good it did me. Now they are saying that I shouted the king to death."

Tarrin nodded, "Father always told me that death by the sword is the way of all Nords," he said, thinking back on all the times his father had lectured him, "I don't know how he would have taken the Voice, but I think you won the fight fairly. Father also always said that it is best to know your enemy before the battle."

Ulfric nodded, offering Tarrin a smile, "Your father was a wise man...is he here with you?"

"No," he said, hanging his head, "He died a year ago after fighting off a troll. I left home to see this land he loved with my own eyes."

The one called Olaf chuckled, "You're certainly a brave lad considering you're so scrawny, even for a Nord."

"Half Nord," Tarring said, slightly annoyed.

"That doesn't matter," Ralof said, "Whether your blood is pure or not, only those that can survive in Skyrim dare to call themselves Nords, lad. It's a hard place."

"So I've heard," Tarrin nodded. "I've already seen a few critters around here that I'd never seen in Cyrodil."

"Oh?" Olaf smirked, "Like what? A large dog? HA!"

"While I was in Falkreath, someone came back from a hunting trip with a giant bear in his wagon." Tarrin said, ignoring Olaf.

"That'd be a cave bear," Ralof nodded, "And there are nastier things around here. Wait til you see your first mammoth. Good eating, them, but bloody hard to kill. Then there are the giants around them. Like big sheep dogs, those brutes. Gentle if you leave 'em be, but hurt them or one of their mammoth's then you'd better make a run for it."

"We had something similar to them back home," Tarrin said, "Ogres are almost like giant trolls with green skin...I wouldn't want to meet either one."

Everyone laughed at this, including Tarrin, and soon they were all talking about their homes and things that they had done before Ulfric had tried for the throne. Olaf turned their attention back to the Thalmor Elves, saying that they were the cause of all the problems in Skyrim. Though he really didn't believe that one single race was responsible for a country's problems, but he listened intently as Olaf went on.

The Altmer had been known to take Talos worshipers away for questioning, and were never seen again. Talos, Tarrin knew, was the hero god that the Nords worshiped, and had indeed been an actual man long ago. It was a mystery to the boy as to why the Altmer hated the Talos worshipers so, and he had seen that hatred first hand when they had gone to the Imperial city and run into a faction of the Elves. His father had nearly been imprisoned because of the incident, but thanks to his friendship with a noblemen, he was spared the Thalmor's mercy.

Not long after Olaf finished speaking, Ulfric suggested they all get to sleep. They were to make a long journey back to Windhelm to following morning, while Tarrin would travel with them to the Darkwater Crossing mines to find more work, and hopefully a place to stay. Tarrin knew it would be a long trek without a horse, but he still needed to go. Many of the other mines were abandoned for various reasons. From bandits to Drauger.

As he lay down to sleep that night, he wondered if he would find a true home here in this strange land. Perhaps he could make a life in one of the larger cities, and join a military faction. Ulfric had offered him a place with the Stormcloaks, but Tarrin had said that he would be of little use to him until he had built some muscle on his arms, as he could barely lift a sword, let alone move around in armor.

Little did he know that he would soon have little choice to do anything else.

The morning came all too soon for the young man as the light shone through the trees, and Ralof stoked the fires to get their breakfast cooked. Ulfric was the last to wake, rubbing his neck to work a kink out, "Shor's bones I miss my bed at times!"

"Oh, come off it Ulfric," Olaf grinned, "It wasn't that long ago that you and I were out on the roads doing our Jarl's dirty work!"

"Bah! Don't bring up old things like that!" Ulfric said, giving the man a good-natured shove.

Tarrin had grown to like the loud Nord. He was almost like the big brother of Ulfric's group. Olaf always seemed to have a smile on his face.

After eating a small meal of bacon and bread, the group, with Tarrin riding behind Ralof, was saddled up, and moving on.

"Oh there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead," Olaf sang out, grinning as Ralof and Ulfric groaned.

xXx

"When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"

"Olaf, one more verse of Ragnar the Red, and so help me - !" One of the other men growled.

"You'll kick a mouthful of my axe," Olaf grinned, hefting the large battle axe strapped to his back.

Ulfric turned in his saddle, "He's right, Olaf, your singing is terrible!"

"Ah, bullocks! Tarrin likes my singing, don't you, laddie?"

"Leave me out of this," Tarrin said, trying to shrink behind Ralof, not a hard thing to do, considering how much smaller the boy was.

"To hell with the lot of you, then!" Olaf growled, getting a laugh out of the troupe.

"How dare you speak to the king like that!" Larina, the only female warrior of the group said jokingly.

"Off with ya," Olaf grumbled, urging his mount forward.

"At least he's not singing anymore," Aron, another warrior said, much to the amusement of the others.

Gunjar, the last of the group, grunted, "He could make a giant go deaf if he broke into - "

"Halt!" Ralof yelled, "Someone's coming!"

Tarrin raised himself over Ralof's shoulder so he could see, and saw a man riding a sorry-looking paint horse, sorry, but strong.

"Look out!" The man yelled, and suddenly Tarrin found themselves set upon by his kinsmen. Thirty Imperial soldiers burst out of the trees, their swords drawn.

"Ambush!" Olaf roared, unstrapping his axe.

"Tarrin, run!" Ralof yelled, tossing the boy off their horse.

"What about you?!" Tarring yelled, not wanting to leave his friends.

"Run, lad, we'll be fine!" Ulfric yelled, unsheathing his sword. "Now run, and save yourself!"

"Lieutenant, catch that boy!" Yelled a woman.

Tarrin scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash for the trees. But the poundind of horse hooves reached his ears, and he knew it was hopeless. the shadow of the horse and rider passed over him, and a hand reached out and grasped him by the scruff of his neck. "Got you, rebel!"

"Let go of me!" Tarrin yelled, "I'm not a rebel!"

"A likely story!" The man growled, turning his horse about. Tarrin roared and swun his leg around, smashing the man in the face, forcing him to release the boy. Tarrin landed heavily on his rump, flipping over and making another rush for the trees.

"Archers!" The woman yelled.

"Tarrin, get down!" He heard Olaf yell. Tarrin ducked down low just as a hail of arrows sailed over him, scrambling up again, only to come face to face with the man that he had kicked moments earlier.

"You little runt!" He raised his sword, "I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget!"

"Leave that child alone you Imperial bastard!" Ralof roared, and the man was suddenly tackled from behind.

"Get down, all of you!" Ulfric roared, and Tarrin saw him taking a deep breath, and the boy suddenly knew that it meant something big, "Fus!" The resounding shock wave that came from his throat was like a thunder clap, knocking many of the Imperial soldiers and their mounts down.

"Run, lad!" Olaf yelled one final time, his axe a whirl as he cut down soldier after soldier that got in his path, drawing Tarrin's eyes to the carnage. His Imperial brothers were many, but the might of the Nords they face was something Tarrin had only heard about in stories from his father. Olaf was wounded, badly, his body ridled with arrows, but the man just kept going, roaring as if in a berserk rage as his bloodied axe flew through the air.

Ralof had slit the throat of the man he had tackled, and was rushing to the aid of Gunjar and Larina who were facing down another large band of soldiers, while Ulfric kept shouting, and Tarrin could believe why some would think his shout could tear a man apart.

Shaking from the sight of his friends battling against his kinsmen, Tarrin felt his Nordic blood begin to boil at this. He reached for the sword dropped by the man Ralof had killed. It was heavy, yet it felt right in his hands.

The woman captain saw this and smirked, "And what are you going to do with that, boy?" She asked, brandishing her own sword.

"I told you," Tarrin growled, "I'm not a rebel!" He lunged forward, the sword raised high. The captain grinned and raised her sword to block him as his sword crashed down with surprising force. Tarrin was quick, this much he knew, and against a seasoned warrior of the Empire, he had little chance. But he knew their weakness. The Imperials favored heavy armor, thick and hard to move in.

Those that favored this armor moved slower than he did, and he intended to use that. As the captain staggered back from his attack, Tarrin spun around, weaving his sword through the air toward her stomach, the blade striking to high and screeching off the armor plating.

"Divines!" She swore, "You little demon!"

"Tarrin, I told you to run!" Olaf roared, barreling into the fight as the woman struck at him again, taking the blade on the shaft of his axe, and kicking her in the stomach.

"To hell with that!" Tarrin growled, "I'd never be able to face my father in Sovngarde if I left my friends, new or old, behind!" To this note Tarrin roared back into the fray, placing his back against the injured warrior's. "I stay!"

"Ha, that was well said, lad," Olaf chuckled, "I'm sure your father would be proud."

Ralof and the other rallied around them in a circle as the Imperial soldiers advanced on them once again. Ulfric was winded, he could see, and breathing heavily as the use of his Thu'um took its toll on him, and Olaf was still bleeding from his wounds. Larina looked fine, but she was covered in blood all down her front, and Tarrin couldn't tell if it was her's or not.

Ralof looked like he could still fight, a mad smile on his face, as well as Gunjar, who wore the same smile. "Tis a good day to die, eh, boys?" Gunjar asked, glaring at the soldiers.

"That it is," Olaf said, grinning at his back, "Its been a pleasure, men, and I'm glad to have known such a strong young Nord before my time," he said looking at Tarrin, then back at the soldiers, "Come, lads,I'll lead the way to Sovngarde!" He roared and rushed at the nearest Imperial, a cleaved him in half, head to toe before the man could even raise is shield.

Tarrin followed him, attacking another heavily armored soldier, "Forgive me, Mother, but today I am a Nord!" He yelled, jumping high, letting his sword flash down. Another weakness of Imperials. Their swords were thin and weak against heavier steel, such as the sword he now wielded. The Imperial blade cracked as the steel sword came crashing down, and Tarrin plunged the blade into the man's neck, drawing his first kill.

"Ata boy, Tarrin!" Gunjar laughed, bringing a mace down on the helmet of another soldier.

Tarrin grinned with the same mad glee of battle that Gunjar and Ralof had as he rushed another warrior, understanding now why Nords were so feared in battle. Seeing these men fight for their lives, and fighting for his own. It was a pure joy that he felt now. He was whole.

And then his world went black as he felt a blow to the back of his head, and the last thing he saw was Ralof and Ulfric rushing toward him.

xXx

Tarrin groaned as the swaying woke him, making his stomach churn. He cracked his eyes open open to see a blurred world around him. When his eyes finally cleared, he saw that Ralof was sitting across from him, his hands bound. He sat up and found himself sitting in the back of a wagon. Next to him was Ulfric, his hands also bound, and a gag wrapped around his mouth. Across from him was the man that had rode through them and had the Imperials right behind him.

"Damn," Tarrin said when he sat up, feeling a pounding in his head.

Ralof looked at him in relief, "Ah, good, you're awake!"

"Yeah, but what happened?" Tarrin asked, clutching at his head with his bound hands.

"It was an ambush," Ralof said, "I'm sorry that you got caught up in it...well, you and that horse thief over there." He jerked his head over at the man across from Ulfric.

"Damn you Stormcloaks!" The man sneered, "If it wasn't for you, I could have stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell by now!"

"Shut up back there!" Yelled the wagon driver.

The theif grunted and looked at Ulfric, "So what's your deal, huh?"

"Watch your tongue, Horse Thief!" Ralof yelled, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the one true king of Skyrim!"

The theif's eyes widened, "You Jarl Ulfric? But if they captured you then...oh gods, where are they taking us?!"

Ralof shrugged, "I don't know where we're going, but Sonvgarde awaits."

Tarrin sighed as the man started rambling to the divines for help while Ralof told him to shut up. "It looks like I won't be seeing my mother again."

Ralof looked at him, "You must have mixed feelings about Imperials after this, huh? Being half-Imperial yourself?"

"My family wasn't like these people," Tarrin growled, "We were farmers, peaceful folks. Mother always hated the soldiers, though, and now I can see why."

"Aye," Ralof said, nodding, looking ahead of them, "Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl here...I wonder if Ulga's still making that mead with juniper berries?"

Tarrin turned ahead of them, seeing the walls of a small hold, "It's funny, being inside Imperial walls like this used to make me feel safe." He said, sighing again.

"I know how you feel, lad," Ralof said as the wagon lurched through the gates, then his face wrinkled in a sneer, "Oh, look, the Thalmor are here."

Tarrin swiveled around again, noticing an Altmer woman on horseback talking down to an Imperial general. "Who's that man she's talking to?"

"General Tullius," Ralof said, making Tarring gasp. He'd heard that name before. He was known to be utterly ruthless in battle and the sharpest mind of any of the Imperial commanders.

The wagon then lurched to a halt in front of Helgen keep.

"Why are we stopping?" The thief asked.

"Why do you think?" Ralof said, "End of the line."

"Everyone out!" Yelled the familiar voice of the female captain, "To the line when your name is called!"

"Damned Empire loves their lists," Ralof muttered as they rose and began jumping down from the wagon.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," said the man holding the list, and Tarrin noticed that he had the visage of a Nord, "Of Windhelm.

Ralof bowed his head a little as Ulfric walked past him, "It's been an honor, my Jarl."

"Ralof of Riverwood."

Ralof gave a nod to Tarrin, "Be brave, lad." Then he walked on to stand beside his fellow warriors.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!" Lokir, who was the theif, yelled, "We're not rebels! You have to believe me!"

"Silence! To the block, now!" The female captain roared.

"AH!" Tarrin looked on in amazement as Lokir suddenly rushed her, plowing into her with his shoulder and knocking her to the ground be fore running off toward the treeline.

"ARCHERS!"

The Imperials all drew their bows and let loose their arrows. Tarrin had to hand it to the thief as his body lurched to the ground, having six arrows in him, he hadn't gone down without a fight.

"Next, you there, the child in the rags!"

Rags? Tarrin looked down at himself, finding that his tunic and leggings were gone, replaced with ragged trousers and a burlap shirt. "ACK! Who stole my clothes!"

"What are you talking about?" The man asked, "You were dressed that way when you came in, now what's your name?"

Tarrin growled at him, "Tarrin of Cyrodil, a farmer from the East!" He snapped, "I tried to tell this stupid woman that when she had her dogs attack me!"

"An Imperial?" He asked, "You don't look like one. Your hair isn't the right color..."

Tarrin sighed. His lineage had given him more Nordic features than Imperial. He had blonde hair like most Nords, and dark blue eyes that seemed to be rare in Cyrodil, who's people seemed to have black eyes mostly. And he was tall for his age, though he was dwarfed by most Nords, if not for anything than bulk. "I'm half Nord on my father's side."

"Well, kinsmen, you picked a bad time to come home," he said, writing the boy's name down on his list, "Captain, this boy wasn't on the list of Stormcloaks, what are to do with him?"

"He goes to the block, same as the others," she huffed, probably upset at being called stupid by someone so young.

"Understood," he said, looking back to the boy, "I'm sorry, lad, but to the block, nice and easy."

Tarrin nodded, "My mother lives in the easter farmlands of Cyrodil, and her name is Helena...will you send her word?"

"I will try," he said, and Tarrin smiled in thanks, walking to stand beside Ralof.

"What happened to Olaf?" Tarrin asked, not seeing the boisterous Nord among them.

"He fell to that captain you just insulted," he said, hanging his head, "He went down as a true Nord, and died standing up, even with a sword through his chest...you were quite a little wonder out there, lad. I thought you'd never held a sword before?"

Tarrin shrugged, "Something just clicked...I felt right with that sword in my hands." Then he saw General Tullius walking up to Ulfric.

"Ulfric Stormcloak." He said, his face stoic, "Some here and in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!"

Ulfric grunted at him against the gag.

Tullius growled, "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

Suddenly there was a loud, thundering roar as Tullius finished speaking.

"What was that?" Tarrin wondered aloud.

"I don't know," Ralof said, looking up at the mountains, "I've never heard anything like that before." He winced as the first man stepped up to the block...Aron.

"My ancestors are smiling down at me," the man sneered at the Imperials, "Can you say the same?"

Then the headmen's axe came down. Tarrin closed his eyes.

Thunk.

"You Imperial bastards!" He heard Larina scream.

"Justice!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

Tarrin opened his eyes just as the headmen kicked Aron's body out of the way.

"Next the Nord in the rags!" The captain yelled.

"Wait!" Ralof yelled looking at the Nord with the list, "Hadvar, you can't do this! He's not one of us!"

Hadvar hung his head, then motioned to Tarrin, "To the block, Tarrin."

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Tarrin stepped out of line. "I hope you Imperials are happy...I was simply defending myself from your attack, all the while Ulfric and his men were telling me to run away before I was caught up in the battle...and here I am, a born Imperial, at your mercy..."

Hadvar looked away as Tarrin passed him, not willing to look into his eyes.

"A pretty speech, boy, but you could e lying, and there's no way of telling." The woman captain said, the Thalmor elf behind her on her horse. Tarrin sneered at them both.

"Lying, huh?" Tarrin said, "I was always taught never to lie by my father, a Nord man like Ulfric and Ralof...and now that I see the way you do things, I'd rather die a Nord that live as an Imperial!"

She growled and grabbed him by the collar and forced him down to his knees on the block. That was when the second roar was heard. The woman looked around, "What is that?"

Out of the corner of his eye as the headmen raised his axe, Tarrin saw something flying toward the keep...something large...something very large!

"What in Oblivion is that!" Tullius yelled as the giant black creature flew over them and landed on the tower, shaking the ground beneath them. Tarrin was thrown onto his side, giving him a good look a the monster. It was a creature right out of one of his father's stories.

"Dragon!"

"Fus Ro Dah!" The thunderclap of the shock wave was ten times as strong as Ulfric's had been, and stunned the boy as he tumbled back, his vision blured from the blast.

"Tarrin!" Ralof yelled, though it sounded to Tarrin like he was under water. He felt someone pulling him to his feet, "Come on, lad, we need to get out of here!"

"Ralof, you trecherous bastard!" Hadvar yelled.

"Treacherous in a snakes arse!" Ralof yelled, "Get out of here before that thing burns you to a crisp! Tarrin, get a hold of yourself!"

"R-Ralof," Tarrin, groaned, his senses coming back to him.

"Easy there, lad, I've got'cha," Ralof said, dragging the boy to the tower.

He shouldered the door open, dragging Tarrin inside with him. Tarrin collapsed to the floor, trying to get to his feet again.

"Is he alright?" He heard Ulfric ask.

"Just stunned, I think, "Ralof said, "That thing...was is really a dragon? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric said, "Either way, this is our chance to get away. Quick, get him on his feet and get up those stairs!"

Tarrin shook his head, his vision finally returning, "Gah, what the blazes hit me?"

"A dragon," Ralof chuckled, hauling the boy to his feet, "That was a nice speech you gave, lad. Ever thought about joining politics?"

Tarrin grinned up at him, "No thanks, Mother always said I wasn't bull-headed enough for that!"

"That's good," Ulfric chuckled, his hands on his hip, "At least he still has his sense of humor." He took a dagger from his belt, "Here, show me your hands and let me get those binds off."

Tarrin nodded gratefully extending his hands as Ulfric drew his dagger through the leather bindings. Tarrin rotated his hands to get the circulation going again, then noticed Larina on the floor, "Hey!" He knelt beside her. She was clutching her stomach, and he saw a large amount of blood on her armor, and this time he knew it was her's from broken axe buried in her armor.

Rolaf knelt beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder, "It's too late for her, lad. Let's go."

Tarrin nodded, rising to his feet, and following the few remaining Stormcloaks up the stairs. One of the men was half way up, when there was a roar from the outside and the dragon's head suddenly plowed through the wall, and breathed a gout of flames. The man had no chance against the flames.

"Against the wall!" Rolaf ordered, and Tarrin flattened himself against the wall as the dragon withdrew. Ralof peeked around the opening it had made and smiled, "This is good, we can jump across to that house there!"

"But - " Tarrin said, not liking this idea.

"Go, I'll be right behind you!" Ralof said, and all but shoved him through. Tarrin yelled in fright as he tumbled down through the roof of the house, landing on his back with a thud.

"Ralof, I'm going to kill you if I live through this," he groaned, getting to his feet and running along the burning house. He jumped down through a hole in the second floor and landed heavily.

The dragon made another pass aboe the house, breathing out another blast of flames. Tarrin ducked down, covering his head as the dragon passed by. Then he scrambled back to his feet and ran out the door. He ran out into the street, skidding to a halt at what he saw. The bodies of the people of Helgen were all around, burned or crushed by fallen debris. The dragon was circling the hold, searching out any and all survivors.

He growled and ran forward again, and nearly tripped over the fallen body of an Imperial, his feet getting caught in his bow. Looking back, Tarrin saw that it was an Imperial bow like the one he'd used while hunting back home, and made a grab for it, and the quiver that was tied to the man's back.

"Alright, now to get to the keep," Tarrin said to himself.

"You there, Tarrin!" Tarrin turned around, immediately knocking an arrow, and found Hadvar crouched low with his sword drawn. "Easy! You'll live a lot longer if you follow after me!"

"Why should I trust you?!" Tarrin yelled, "You're friends nearly took my bloody head off!"

"What choice do you have?" Hadvar asked, rushing past him, "Now come on!" He yelled, running over to a small group, "Gunnar, get Haming out of here!"

"Right!" Said a balding man with a pale eye, "Haming, come, your father is gone, we have to go!" The man said to a boy that was cowering behind him.

Tarrin watched the boy run after him, growling in the back of his throat, he grudgingly followed Hadvar.

"Good, it's you and me now, Tarrin!" Hadvar yelled over the roaring of the dragon, "Quickly, to the keep!"

"Just move, or I'll leave you behind!" Tarrin yelled barelling ahead of him, "I've had enough of Imperials...and I'm part Imperial for Talos' sake!"

"Don't blame you there!" Hadvar shouted, "Get down!"

Again the dragon made a pass, and Tarrin could hear it saying something that he couldn't understand. Tarrin raised his bow up, pulling the arrow back to full draw, and loosed.

The arrow flew well ahead of the dragon, exactly where Tarrin was aiming, into the beast's flight line. As the massive dragon flew into the arrow's path, the sharp metal head buried itself in the thick, scaley hide. The dragon roared in pain as the dart pierced him. "_Nivahriin joorre!_"

"Did that thing just speak?" Tarrin yelled, shaking himself as he knocked another arrow, but was yanked by the shoulder.

"Not now, lad, we need to get to the keep!" Hadvar yelled.

"Hey, I hit the thing, didn't I?" Tarrin growled, following after him, "I've hunted things that can hunt you back, but you soldiers must need a lot of practice!"

"We're foot soldiers, not yeomen!" Hadvar grumbled.

"Tell that to Lokir," Tarrin grumbled back, then saw a familiar face coming toward them, "Ralof!"

"Tarrin!" Ralof yelled waving at him with his axe, "This way!"

Hadvar growled, "Go if you want, but you'd be going to the wrong side!"

"No," Tarrin sneered at the man, "I wouldn't." With that, he took off toward Ralof before the two of them crashed through the keep doors.

Tarrin and Ralof sat there a few moment, panting for breath as the dragon roared again, crashing through the hold.

Ralof, finally getting his breath back, laughed loudly, "That'll wake you up in the morning, won't it, laddie?!" He brayed, clapping the boy on the back, and staggering him, "That was a hell of a shot you made there. You're a natural with that bow!"

"Hey, when you grow up on a farm, you learn a few things," Tarrin grinned hefting his ill-gotten bow, "Like how to shoot a wolf between the eyes when he's after your goats!"

"Ha! The Stormcloaks could use that," Ralof said, getting to his feet, "After all this is done, why don't you head to Windhelm and join up? You'd be a captain in no time!"

Tarrin shook his head, "I don't know, Ralof. This is probably just my survival instincts kicking in. I really don't fancy getting roasted by an overgrown lizard."

"Neither do I," Ralof laughed, looking around the room, "Argh, so that's what happened to Gunjar..."

Tarrin looked ahead of them, and saw the body of their friend laying sprawled against the wall. Shaking, the boy walked over to him, and closed the man's eyes for him before looking back at Ralof, "Did Ulfric make it out?"

"I think so," Ralof nodded, then gestured to Gunjar's body, "Dishonorable as it seems, lad, Gunjar won't be needing that armor any more...the least you could do is put it to good use."

Tarrin nodded, kneeling back down to begin his grim task. A few minutes later, Tarrin was dressed as a proper Stormcloak warrior. Ralof nodded, "Looks good on you, lad."

"Thanks," he said adjusting the clothing since it was a little big on him, "How do we get out of here?"

"There's a tunnel leading out of this place below us," Ralof said, "We'll need to make our way down." The ground shook as the dragon kept up its attack. Ralof grumbled as he swayed on his feet, "That's probably the safest place right now with that thing flying around out there."

Tarrin nodded, looking at the iron gate against the far wall, "We'll need to get that open then...got any ideas?"

"We could try to force it open," Ralof said, shrugging the idea off, "Wish I had some lock picks, then I'd have it open easily."

Tarrin was about to say something when he heard voices coming, "Someone's coming through!"

"What luck," Ralof said, running to the wall, "If they're Imperial's we'll ambush them, then we can take some of their gear and get the hell out of here!"

Tarrin nodded, more than happy to settle things for Gunjar as he flattened himself against the wall, drawing back an arrow. the gate then swung open, and Tarrin lept out in front, loosing his arrow. The Imperial didn't have time to shout as the shaft buried itself in his skull. Ralof lept into action as the second soldier, the female captain, as it turned out, drew her sword, only to have Ralof slice his axe across her throat.

"That was for Olaf, bitch!" Ralof growled as she fell to the ground.

Tarrin quickly snatched up her sword and scabbard, belting them around his hips, before he and Ralof made their way through the gate and down the hall. "It's clear," Ralof said, "Let's go!"

And then they ran.

xXx

"That was too close!" Ralof groaned as he stumbled against the wall.

"You alright?" Tarrin asked.

"Aye, just a little roughed up," he grinned, "I'll give your kinsmen one thing, lad. They sure know how to use a sword!"

After running down the hall, the dragon had collapsed part of it, nearly catching them, and forcing them to take the route through the kitchens where they met up with a few more soldiers that were easily dispatched. Then it was on to the torture chamber where they found a few surviving Stormcloaks fighting off the torturer. Tarrin had felled him with a single shot, but he was running low on arrows by then.

The ones he managed to salvage from his victims were still useable, but the shafts had been damaged.

That problem had been solved when his group ran into more Imperials in the lower catacombs. They had been trying to get out just as they were, but when they saw the Stormcloaks, there had been no words, only battle.

The arrows he'd taken from their quivers were lesser quality iron arrow as opposed to the steel arrows he'd found outside. To top things off, when they'd made it past the soldiers, they had encountered a group of frostbite spiders. Ralof had been reluctant to fight as in the last battle, one of the Imperials had grazed his shoulder with their sword, leaving him lame. Tarrin had managed to take the spiders out with a few well placed shots, thankfully.

Now they stood, catching their breath, against the stone walls of the caverns.

"Think it'll be safe once we get out of here?" Tarrin asked.

"Safe enough," Ralof said, "Where you headed after this?"

"Back to Falkreath," Tarrin grinned, "I made a few friends there, and I'll be able to make a few Septims doing odd jobs around the city."

"A fine idea," Ralof said, "I'll be headed home to Riverwood for a while to lay low...I probably shouldn't ask this of you, lad, but if you're ever in the area of Whiterun, go to the Jarl and tell him of this dragon attack. He'll need to know."

Tarrin nodded, "I'll do that. But this is the end of my fighting, Ralof. I can already feel the guilt of killing my kinsmen like that...even if they had it coming to them."

"Shame, you would have made a grand soldier...but I have a feeling that you'll be fighting again some time soon." He said, looking grim, "There's a storm coming, lad, and neither you nor I can stop it. The Thalmor won't stand for Ulfric going free, and they'll no doubt look for you as well since some of the Imperials escaped along with that Thalmor bitch we saw."

Tarrin nodded, pushing off the wall, "I'll be sure to remember that...this is where I leave you, though. It's probably best if we split up before we get out of here. I can go unseen by most if I want to, but with two of us, it'd be easier to spot us."

"Agreed," Ralof said, smiling, extending his hand, "Do yourself a favor, and find a good woman to go with that heart of your's, lad."

Tarrin reached out and shook his hand, his face slightly red from his friend's comment, "You as well, friend." And with that, Tarrin took off down the cave, heading for the light ahead of him.

* * *

_**Well, what do you think? Is it worth continuing? Please review and let me know!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**2: A New Friend**_

* * *

"Well look what the cat dragged in!" Yelled one of the guards at the entrance of Falkreath, taking off his helmet, "Tarrin, my lad, it's good to see you back here!"

Tarrin grinned as he made his way into the fire light. "That you, Angus? Didn't think you'd still be here after that spat with Valga." The boy chuckled as a man in his early thirties grinned back.

"Take more than a saucey wench to chase me away," the man said, thumping himself on the chest, "Though she only gives me half the mead she used to...What're ye doin' back here again? I thought you were heading to one of the mining settlements?"

Tarrin sighed, scratching the back of his head, "It's a long story, Angus. Think we could talk about at the inn? I'm starving!" In truth, Tarrin had had a rough time of getting to Falkreath after his escape. In the last three days his Imperial brothers had searched the hills high and low for Ulfric and his men...including him. He'd spent the biggest part of his time hiding in the bushes. Food and drink were the last thing on his mind.

Angus laughed at the boy and clapped him on the back, "Sure thing, lad, I was just coming off guard detail...and maybe with you along, Valga won't skimp on the mead!"

Tarring rolled his eyes as he followed after him, "So what's been going on since I left?"

Angus sighed and shook his head, "Not'ing good, I'm afraid. You remember Mathies' little girl?"

"Mika?" Tarrin said, "Of course I do. She was like a little sister to me while I was here."

"She was killed shortly after you left," Angus said sadly, shocking the boy, "It was the strangest thing. One of the the quarry men, Sinding I think his name was, just went mad, and started howling. Next thing we knew, he'd changed."

"A werewolf?" Tarrin asked in surprise, "I didn't think there many left..._Talos_, Mathies and Indara must be heartbroken!"

"They are," Angus nodded, "We did our best to calm him, but the beast was out of control, and then little Mika got in its path..."

Tarrin growled, "What happened to the werewolf?"

Angus shrugged, "After he attacked, he ran off into the woods, then came back as a man again. Done the right thing he did, asked to be locked up for his crime."

Tarrin was a little surprised at that. Normally those cursed, or blessed depending on how one looked at it, by Hircine claimed that they had no control over who or what they killed, and refused to take the blame for those injured by their bestial side.

As the two walked through the small town, Angus told him of other happenings around the area, such as a small group of bandits, which were giving the Jarl more trouble than he cared to admit. "Stubborn boy," Angus sighed as they entered the in, "If one group of bandits comes at us, it won't be long until another comes, and then another. There's too few of us in the city to fend them all off."

"Complaining about the bandits again, Angus?" Said a voice from the far end of the inn where Tarrin saw a smiling Valga Vinicia. A smile that became wider as she caught sight of the young Nord. "Tarrin! So good to see you back again, lad!"

"It's good to be back, Valga," Tarrin said, sniffing hopefully, "Anything on the fires?"

"Of course!" She laughed, "What sort of inn keeper would I be if I didn't feed a starving kinsmen?"

Tarrin grinned as he sat down with Angus while the Imperial woman bustled about getting his meal ready. Minutes later Tarrin was scarfing down large spoonfuls of venison stew and half a loaf of bread.

Narri came out of one of the rooms as he was finishing up, smiling, "Shor's bones, the handsome little Imperial came back." She took a seat beside him ,"Couldn't resist my charms, could you, boy?"

Angus grunted out a laugh, "Lay off the lad, Narri, he's had a hard trek from the look o' him." He said, "Ye never did say what 'appened. What brought ye back 'ere?"

Tarrin sighed again, thinking back on the last few days, "Honestly? My own people tried to have me killed just for associating with Ulfric Stormcloak."

Valga raised her eyebrow at the boy, "Is that why you're wearing that Stormcloak armor? Don't tell me you joined them, lad?"

No," Tarrin shook his head, "But I may as well had. I was traveling to Red Belly mine to find work there, but I got caught in the a rain storm. A man named Ralof found me and offered me a place by the fire. It was only later that I found out that Ulfric Stormcloak was who he was."

"And?" Valga sneered, "Did he tell you how he shouted the king apart?"

"No," Tarrin shook his head again, "I saw him use his shout. Yes, he could knock a man down, hell I even saw him knock a man and his horse down, but it wasn't a shout for killing. And they tried to save me when some Imperial soldiers attacked us. They wouldn't listen to me when I told them I wasn't with them, and I ended up having to fight them."

"Good on ya, lad," Angus laughed, thumping him on the back, "I never have liked the way those Imperials did things!"

"I beg your pardon?!" Valga snapped with her hands on her hips.

"What?" Angus grinned, "I'm only telling the truth." He reached for his mead, but Valga was quicker and snatched tankard from him.

"No more for you this month!" She growled.

"Ack, lassie, that's just too cruel!" Angus moaned, clutching at his heart, "Taking away a man's mead like that ought to be a crime!"

Narri grinned across at him, "We all know about that stash of yours you keep hidden in your barn, Angus."

Tarrin snorted into his own mead when he heard this, laughing at the man's angered expression.

"Laugh it up," Angus rumbled, crossing his arms, "Anyway, what happened after the Imperials got after you?"

"I got knocked out, and taken to Helgen," Tarrin said, fighting off his grin, "I nearly got my head cut off, but, and this is the strange bit, so keep an open mind."

"Sure, lad, but what happened?" Angus said, becoming curious.

"A dragon attacked," Tarrin said, waiting with baited breath as he let this sink in. Narri, Angus and Valga all looked at him for a moment, then Angus slumped in his seat. "Was this dragon black, with curved horns like a demon's?"

"That's him," Tarrin clarified, "He also had red eyes, like fire."

Angus sat back, sighing, "_When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world. When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped. When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles. When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls. When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding. The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn." _

Tarrin raised his eyebrow at him, "Never took you for a poet, Angus?" His words had unnerved the young Cyrodil native, but not so much, he saw, as the two women.

"It's not a poem, lad, it's a prophecy of an ancient god's return," Angus rumbled, motioning for Valga to give him back his mead, which she did after a moment, and the Nord drank deeply before setting his tankard down, "If it holds true, then the dragon you saw was most likly the World Eater, Alduin."

Tarrin trembled at the name, "I've...heard that name before...Father used to tell me stories at night to frighten me."

Angus nodded, "He was right to frighten you with those tales."

Tarrin shook his head. Surely this dragon couldn't be the same one from his father's stories? "Tell me more."

"Alright, lad," Angus said, "I'll tell you what I know."

x-Beginning of Angus' Tale-x

From what I remember of the old tales sung by the bards, and stories kept in the Winterhold college, Alduin was the first of his kind, and from him came his terrible race of Dovah, the dragons, lad. They were mighty beasts, feared by all, even the elves, who's magic could fight them off. But Alduin was by far the worst of his kin. His Thu'um could take the souls of those that opposed him, and he ate them. Never were they to see the wonders of Sovngarde.

Back then, we were barely making out lives for ourselves in the rocks. We couldn't farm, because the dragons would come to burn our crops, and livestock would e taken to feed their monstrous appetites. Many tried to rise up against them only to e burned alive or eaten. Still, we fought with everything we had to be free of the tyrany of the dragons.

These times were known as the Dragon Wars. Sometimes, we managed to kill one of the brutes, to take its carcass to make armor and weapons from the flesh and bones. None remain now that I know of, and the art has long been lost. But killing one meant we incurred the wrath of their father. Alduin's vengeance was wrought upon mankind ten fold.

Then something changed. Akatosh, seeing the strife brought about by his own son, gifted the races of the world with power to fight the dragons. A child was born, born with the blood and soul of a dragon in a mortal body. Now, mind you this child didn't discover this until he was able to kill a dragon, or even learn their speech. When this happened, that person would consume the dragon's soul and steal it's power. We came to call these warriors Dragonborn.

It was a long time before we would rise up to fight Alduin, but in this time, the Dragonborn became three, and taught two more warriors the language of the dragons. With their combined efforts, these three raised an army, teaching the best ways to slay dragons, quickly, and without lost. Dragons are vain, yet curious. The idea of a human calling out to one in their own tongue intrigued them. Oh they would have killed them, no doubt, but the dragon never expected to be ambushed by a horde of warriors as he landed to inspect the one calling to him.

Soon, they had enough bone and scales to outfit their army, and marched on Alduin.

Alduin was strong, though, lad, so strong that it took the lives of all three of them. The Dragonborn and his apprentices all fell as Alduin was defeated. But it was prophecized that he would return to reclaim the world for his kin...

x-End of Angus' Tale-x

"And it looks as if he has," Angus sighed, "This is grave news. With Alduin's return, there was supposed to be one of these legendary warriors with him, but I've yet to here of a Dragonborn roaming the wilds of Skyrim."

"Hmph," Valga huffed, "What you Nords don't know is that most of the Dragonborns have been born in Cyrodil, look at Tiber Septim. He was a Dragonborn, and then there's Saint Alessia before him, and let's not forget that bastard Miraak!"

"Stop!" Tarrin said, holding up his hands, "I don't see how this helps us since there's a dragon roaming around, burning everything!"

"Lad's right," Narri said, "If it's true, then we should let the Jarl know."

"Not tonight," Valga said, watching the young man start to yawn, "Tarrin's had a long journey, and its high time that he got a descent night's sleep in a warm bed." Tarrin laughed as the Imperial woman bustled him to one of the rooms, chasing Narri out more than once as she got the boy settled in bed, leaving him a spare set of clothing as he discarded his armor. He kept the sword by his side, though, not willing to part with it after all he had been through.

As his head hit the pillow, Tarrin found himself drifting off almost immediately. But his rest was not to be a peaceful one. His dreams carried him to a mountain top, far above Skyrim as he looked out over the vast expanse of the land he'd come to. Above him was the aurora lights that always graced skys at night. Next to him, sitting as calm as it would beside one of it's own, was a dragon.

Tarrin knew that he should have been afraid, but somehow, this dragon didn't seem dangerous to him. It looked old, and worn from the look of its tattered wings and chalk-grey scales. The dragon turned its head to look at him, then spoke, "So, you have come, at last."

Tarrin's eyes snapped open then, the dream shattering as he woke. He clutched his sword, almost expecting a dragon to be standing over him, but found only one of te guards.

"Good morning, young Tarrin," the man spoke, giving a half-hearted salute, "The Jarl has heard you've been through a fair bit of trouble, and wishes you to join him for a morning meal so that you may speak of these troubles."

It took a moment for Tarrin to shake off the dream's effects, but he kept a hand on his sword, "W-what does he want to know?"

"That is for the Jarl to ask," the man said, stepping out the room, leaving the boy to wake up properly.

Tarrin groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he rolled out of bed, unwilling to leave the warmth. Valga had left him a red belted tunic and brown leggings for him to change into since Stormcloaks were unwelcomed in Falkreath. She'd left him the fur boots, and the gauntlets, but that was all. Tarrin sighed and strapped his sword around his waist, and slipped his bow and quiver over his shoulder. He would not leave them behind.

Dressed, and armed, Tarrin stepped back into the main of the inn with the guard. He looked at the boy, giving him an appraising look. To him, Tarrin was a springy little lump of a boy, tall, but not the height of a Nord, yet, but with the fine features of an Imperial. His legs and arms were evenly muscled for one of his size, nothing like the larger arms of a true Nord man that was used to using larger, heavier weapons. He looked more at home with the bow and arrows at his back, yet the sword looked to be making a home with the boy, judging by the worried look of his palms.

No, the guard decided, he was not a warrior yet, but he was becoming one.

The walk to the Jarl's Longhouse was slightly nerve-wracking for Tarrin, as he found himself escorted by Angus and four more guards, including the one that had woke him. Angus had put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but that had done little to settle his nerves as they marched through the small city. Siddgeir had been pleasant to speak with, but this was going to be something else rather than looking for work from his steward, Nenya.

As Angus pushed the heavy wooden door open, Tarrin was greeted by a smiling Altmer.

"Tarrin, welcome back!" Nenya smiled at him, grabbing the young Nord half-blood in a strong hug, which Tarrin gladly returned. "We've missed you here!"

"I'm glad to hear that," Tarrin laughed, leaning back to look at her, "I might be staying for a little longer than I thought."

"So we'd heard," said an almost bored voice from the back of the house, "Angus has told me of your run-in with Ulfric and the Empire." Siddgeir was sitting lazily on his throne, resting his chin on his fist, "But I would prefer to hear your tale with your own words, my young friend."

Nenya smiled at him reassuringly and led him inside where he was sat down to a small table. Siddgeir joined him along with Nenya and Dengeir, Siddgeir's Thane and uncle. Soon the four of them were eating a meal of bread and beef while Tarrin re-told his tale. While Dengeir did not look surprised at Tarrin's treatment by the Imperials, the news of the dragon attacking certainly caught his attention. He and Nenya were enthralled by the story, but Siddgeir took it all in stride, looking rather amused by the end.

"Well, you've certainly been through a lot, haven't you?" The young Jarl said, "And you're looking for work now?"

"Just until I can find a home of my own somewhere," Tarrin nodded, "I was thinking of making the trek over to Red Belly mine over near Riften. Rumor has that they mine ebony in those caves."

Siddgeir nodded with a small smile, "Yes, I had heard of this as well...in the mean time, since you seem a little short on coin, why don't you work around here? Nenya and I have plenty of jobs that need done around the city. What with all these bandits around, we need all the help we can get."

"Shouldn't we be worried about the dragon?" Dengeir asked, grunting a little in annoyance, "Helgen was one of our holds, and from what I've heard from some of the passers by, the place is all but destroyed."

"Then it is lost," Siddgeir said flippantly, "And I'll worry about the dragon when it shows up on my door step. Now, however, I would like to make sure my people are safe from mortal beings, such as these bandits that have been targetting our traders."

"The Jarl's argument is a sound one," Nenya sighed, looking at the younger man, "But, my Jarl, should we not send word to the other holdings? This dragon could be the first of many to come."

"I care not for the holdings of others, but you may send messages to them if you so wish it, Nenya," Siddgeir said, and Tarrin's patience with the man started to wear thin after his words, "As for you, Tarrin, if you take the job, I can pay you five hundred Septims for the head of one of the bandit leaders that has been giving me trouble."

Tarrin smirked, "For such a reward, I wouldn't say no."

"Good," Siddgeir grinned, clapping his hands together, "Got to Lod's forge and find some armor, then come back here and Nenya will give you their location!"

Dengeir rose from his seat, "Come, lad, I'll go with you. Lod's been working on a sword for me." Tarrin nodded, and followed him out.

Once outside the man sighed, "I'm sorry for my nephew. I could see that his words had an ill effect on your mood."

"Ill effect my foot," Tarrin growled, "I wanted to throttle the man. How could he not care about others?"

Dengeir grunted, "I cannot disagree with you there, lad. He only took my place because of some Imperial scheme for power. Your tale about siding with Ulfric, even for a moment, set him against you."

"Just what I need," Tarrin groaned as they made their way to the blacksmith's forge, "So, I take it this little bandit group is his way of trying to get rid of me?"

"It is," Dengeir sighed, "They're one of my nephew's gangs he uses for his jobs, such as thievery, murders, and other such jobs...and now they're asking for more coin. Since my fool of a nephew isn't paying them, they've been attacking our trade caravans."

"And now he wants to get rid of them," the young man sighed, "Lovely, just a short tip toe through the tulips for me!" He growled.

The sound of a hammer striking metal reached their ears as they came upon the smithie. Lod was hammering away at the forge humming happily.

"Lod!" Dengeir yelled over the hammering.

The blacksmith looked from his work, smiling at the sight of the two, "Well, Dengeir and Tarrin, good to see you two this morning!"

"How's my sword coming along?" Dengeir asked, stepping onto the porch.

"Just finishing up with it now," Lod said, showing him the large blade he was working on, "Couple more hours, and it'll be ready for battle."

"That's good to hear, seeing as how Tarrin here saw a dragon attacking Helgen," Dengeir said, jerking his thumb at the boy.

"Heard about that a day or so ago," Lod said, "Wasn't too sure if it was true or not. Bad thing to think about dragons roaming Skyrim again."

"Worse yet," Dengeir said, "My idiot nephew's gang of cut throats have has gotten out of control and he's sending Tarrin here to take care of them."

Lod had raised his hammer to strike the sword again, but hearing Tarrin's plite, he missed and went sprawling, yelling "What?!"

"That's what I wanted to say," Tarrin mumbled, reaching out to help his friend up.

"And so you should!" Lod roared loudly, glaring at Dengeir, "Couldn't you have said something? By Talos, the lad is too young for this!"

"Hey," Tarrin said.

"Sorry, Tarrin, but it's the truth," Lod shrugged, "And what's more, you agreed to this!"

"What was I supposed to do? Tell him to solve it himself?" Tarrin asked.

"You could have," Dengeir said, scratching his beard absently, "But you would be stuck in the dungeon with that werewolf."

"Talos no!" Tarrin yelped.

"So what did you need from me, other than telling me of this fool's errand?" Lod asked, crossing his arms, causing even Dengeir to cringe. And angry blacksmith was not something he wanted to deal with so early in the morning.

"I could use some armor before I go," Tarrin said, gesturing to himself, "I'm not exactly dressed for battle."

"And I'll pay for him," Dengeir said, "It's the least I can do since this is partly my fault for letting that boy take over."

Lod place his hand on his chin, looking the young Nord over, "Not much meat on you yet, so anything heavy is out of the question...leather armor seems to be the best choice. Light and easy to move around in."

"Got any on hand?" Dengeir asked.

"Just happen to have a set," Lod smiled, "Come inside and we'll get you set up."

"I could use some arrows, too, if you have any to spare?" Tarrin put in.

"Not a problem," Lod said, "I always keep a surplus in case the guards need them. Good steel, too, not those iron toad stickers."

Tarrin grinned, seeing that his small trip might not be as bad as he had been beginning to think.

xXx

It was worse, he learned a day later. After leaving Falkreath, the weather was once again his enemy as snow started falling in large clumps the size of one of his arrow heads. Thankfully, the leather armor Lod had provided him was lined with bear fur, and kept most of the cold at bay, but it still made for slow going when the snow started getting deep. Lod had directed him to a place called Bannermist Tower for refuge if he needed it, saying that it was just a little ways off the path to Knifepoint Ridge, his destination.

As it happened, Tarrin would have little choice in the matter. The snow was getting far to heavy for him to see, and he didn't fancy going snow-blind because of it. Taking the chance, Tarrin plunged off the beaten path, and into the forest, veering further West. The wind began howling in his ears around his helmet, making him shiver. The trees offered little cover from the wind, but they did provide a little relief from it's bite.

Then another sound reached his ears, a different sort of howling. Wolves.

"Divines be damned!" He growled, taking off at a clumsy run through the snow, "I will not be some beast's dinner tonight!" But the howling only seemed to get louder, which caused him to run faster. "Bullocks! Give it up already!"

No sooner had he said that than another, louder howl ripped through the air...and he bumbled right into a stone wall. Tarrin fell back into the snow on his rump, nursing his flattened nose. He groaned and looked up to see what he'd hit, and found himself staring up at the Bannermist Tower.

"Lucky me," he groaned, taking in the sight of the abandoned tower. He got to his feet and started searching for the door. He found it buried under three feet of snow, and hurriedly slammed his shoulder into it.

The door gave after a good shove and Tarrin had to catch himself from falling to the floor again. Then the howling started up again. Tarrin scrambled about and pushed the door closed.

"Stop that howling, ya mangy beast!"

A pained yelp came shortly after the shout.

Tarrin wheeled about.

"Sven, stop torturing the thing," someone yelled, "We want this thing alive when we get it to the pit ring!"

"I just want to get some sleep," the first voice grumbled, "But I can't do that with it howling all damned night!"

"It's a wolf, it's what they do," said the second voice.

The boy ducked down, keeping low as he moved through the hall, his bow already in his hands with an arrow knocked on the string. The men, two at least, sounded somewhat drunk, but Tarrin didn't want to take the chance of being spotted.

"You fed the wretched thing, didn't you?" Sven asked.

"Yes, gave it a slab of Skeever meat earlier," his partner said, "Go ahead and bed down. It's not like he's going anywhere."

"Ah, I'd need wax in my ears to sleep through that!"

Tarrin waited a few moments as the wolf's howling started up again. Then he moved down the corridor quietly. The men weren't complaining anymore, meaning that they had most likely bedded down for the night.

A small archway led into the main room on the ground level where the howling was coming from. Tarrin peeked around the corner, seeing a large cage in the center of the room, and a massive white wolf pawing at the bars. Another look showed him a fire burning next to two sleeping figures. Tarrin knew that these men were no good. The mention of a pit ring was a dead give away, and the wolf looked to be in bad shape from beatings. The poor beast had blood on his right foreleg, and his fur was slightly matted with mud and debris.

Tarrin growled, as much as he disliked wolves back in Cyrodil, this was too cruel. He saw a pad lock on the front of the cage, an easy target. He grinned and took aim with his bow just as the wolf spotted him. His ears stood straight up upon spying the boy, but his howling stopped. Tarrin gave the wolf a small wink, then loosed his arrow.

The lock was poorly made, and snapped right off as the steel tip of the arrow struck, and clattered to the floor. The wolf butted his head against the door, and pushed the cage open. Again the beast looked at him. Tarrin smiled and darted toward the stairs to ascend the tower. It was a wooden ladder that was made to go through the ceiling. Thankfully the wolf wouldn't be getting up to him after he finished his business.

The wind was louder when he got himself up the ladder, which drowned out the terrified screams below.

xXx

Tarrin fell asleep that night to the howling of the wind, safe in the upper level of the tower from the snow...and from the wolf. When he woke the next morning, he stuck his head down through the hole in the ceiling, searching for his furry roommate. The wolf was nowhere in sight, which would have troubled him, had the door to the tower not been ripped off its hinges.

"How did I sleep through that?" Tarrin wondered aloud, then jumped down from the hole, landing softly. When he checked the main room, there was very little left of the two bandits...very little. But the boy resigned himself to checking the bodies. He managed to salvage a knapsack, and a coin pouch, which was filled with ten gold coins. Other than that, there was nothing that interested him.

As he made his way to the door, he took note of the snow piled in the entry, and the tunnel dug out by the wolf. Tarrin shook his head, and plunged into the snow, eager to leave.

xXx

Knifepoint Ridge turned out to be closer than he'd thought. A few hours of trekking through the already melting snow, and Tarrin found himself at the base of a hill with a set of wooden steps leading up to what looked like a camp of small cabins, and sheds. Tarrin was enamored, "What a place!" He grinned, "I think I've just found my home!"

But there was a small snag in his plans. He still had to deal with the bandits. The young man's resolve, however, was strong as steel. This was a mining camp, he could see. As he wandered up over the camp, he spotted work benches, a smelter, a forge, and grindstones all around. There was log fencing surrounding the camp, making it almost impossilbe to sneak up on anyone.

Perfect for a small home.

Knocking an arrow onto his bow string, he counted off the number of bandits around the area. _Two to the right, _Tarrin thought, _one of the watchtower, four on the ground...that just leaves the mine. Dengeir said the leader was a big Orc, but I don't see him, so he's got to be in the mine. _He moved forward slighty to get a better line of sight on his targets when some loose gravel skittered down the hillside.

"What was that?" A man came stumbling out of the mine, "Evan, are you clambering about again?"

"Not me!" Yelled an older man by the forge.

Tarrin grinned, "It was me!"

The man who'd come out of the mine looked up at Tarrin as he loosed his arrow. "Intru - GAH!" Tarrin's aim was spot on as the arrow struck the man in the throat.

Tarrin didn't stop his assault. As the first man went down, more came pouring out of the mine and the cabins around the camp. His arrows flew around the camp, burying themselves in their targets. The bandits fired their own arrows, but Tarrin immediately set himself to a steady movement, using the trees to keep himself from harm's way as he kept up the attack.

All the while he kept an open eye for their leader. But their was no sign of the Orc he was looking for. There were a few among them, but none were big like Dengeir had described.

Suddenly, Tarrin's foot slipped on the slope and the boy went sliding.

Tarrin fell to the ground, landing flat on his back. Groaning, he sat up rubbing his head as a shadow passed over him. Tarrin gasped as a massive man lifted a battle axe over his head. He rolled out of the way, drawing his sword as he came up to his feet. The bandit had jammed his axe into the ground, giving Tarrin enough time to raise his own sword. The bandit never saw it coming as Tarrin jabbed his sword into his back.

Then he turned and ducked under another sword as a woman tried to take his head off,and came back up to swing his sword across her chest. She fell back with a scream only for another fighter to step up, bradishing an iron greatsword and shield. He was a big man, but not an Orc, that towered over even his late friend Olaf. He swung at him with his shield. As Tarrin ducked down, the large man's sword came at him from below, causing Tarrin to role again to the side.

"Come on, boy," the man sneered around his iron helmet, "Is that all you've got?!" He aimed at kick at him, but Tarrin jumped back, too quick for him to actually take a hit. The shield was nothing but a hide shield, easy to destroy if he could get a good hit in.

The problem was the sword. The man was so large that he could use the greatsword with one hand, almost like a giant wielding its club. Tarrin would have to aim for the chinks in his armor if he hoped to survive.

The bandit swung his shield again, but Tarrin swung his sword down, clashing with the hide shield. The shield buckled under the weight of his blade, useless. The giant man grinned and tossed the shield aside, "Clever boy. Been a long time since someone sundered my shield like that." He growled, hefting his sword with both hands now, "But that's as far as they got, and as far as you'll get today!"

Tarrin rushed in as he raised his sword again for a powerful downward strike, ut the boy was far too quick for the lumbering bandit, and rolled behind him, spinning to slash at the back of his knees, where the armor was weak.

"Argh!" The man roared, reaching back to grab him, "You little bastard!"

"The name is Tarrin!" He yelled, his sword raised high, and sent the blade crashing down on the man's skull, cleaving the helmet where the sword stuck. Blood sprayed from the gaping wound as one of the giants eyes popped out of its sockets, showering him with the red liquid. Tarring tried to pull his sword free, but it was stuck fast in the man's skull.

He stumbled back, his legs giving out beneath him. The pounding of his heart was like thunder in his ears as the thrill of the battle left him. All that was left was the blood running down his armor and hands. Bile rose up in his throat as he took in the carnage around him, and his stomach heaved, emptying its contents. _This isn't like before! _The boy's mind howled, _There is no honor in this! _

A cold feeling washed over him as he stumbled back to his feet, his helmet tumbling off his head, "I'm not better than they were..." he mumbled, moving to pick up the fallen head peice. "They were supposed to kill me for Siddgeir, but I'm still...What am I supposed to do now?"

"You could die for me," growled a voice in front of him. Tarrin looked up as the Orc chief he'd come for raised his sword to kill him, looking him in the eyes as he did, "You fought well, little Nord, and gave my men a good death, but this is where it ends."

Tarrin could barely move as the sword started an almost slow descent toward his neck. He would die here, just like Siddgeir wanted, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Suddenly a howl ripped through the air, and a white blur came flying from the rocks. The Orc chief barely had time to turn as the wolf slammed into him, his fangs clamping down on his throat.

Tarrin was so startled that he stumbled back and fell on his backside. The wolf was done with him in a moment as the Orc's garbled voice attempted to scream, and fell limp a moment later.

Finished with his task, the wolf then turned to the boy, his amber eyes rooting him to the spot. Blood dripped lazily from his fangs as he stared at the boy for what seemed like hours. Then he slowly moved toward him, not in a threatening manner, but calm as if he were trying to reassure him that he would not harm him. Tarrin stared right back at him, recognizing his white fur as the same one he'd let loose the evening before.

Then the wolf did a strange thing, and dropped to his belly, crawling to him like a dog begging for attention...or a wolf showing respect to its pack leader. Hesitantly, the boy reached out and touched his fur, soft yet coarse against his skin. The wolf yipped and leaned into the touch, and Tarrin found himself petting him.

"I guess we're even," Tarrin smiled, "Thanks, friend."

xXx

It took a week before Tarrin finally made his way back to Falkreath, laden with steel and armor to sell. He gave the bandits a proper send off, and burned the bodies, saving the armor for himself. The mine had been full of iron and corundum ore, which he combined to make steel ingots that he was sure Lod would appreciate in exchange for a few smithing lessons. Along side him as he traveled was his furry companion, whom he had named Blood-fang, also carrying a small pack of goods, though he didn't care for the extra weight.

In the week he had been away, Tarrin had managed to put up a complete log fence around his new camp, making sure that he would be safe from attack. Blood-fang had helped him do so in driving off other wolf packs, and a few bears that Tarrin would have had trouble with, even with his bow.

Now it was time to cut his ties with Siddgeir, something he now looked forward to. Dengeir had been right, his nephew was as rotten as a peice of meat left to hang for too long, and if it came to blows between them, Tarrin would be ready to strike him down...more than ready.

As for his worries about the dragon, there had been no word from passers by about another sighting. His promise to Ralof, though, was beginning to weigh heavily on his mind, and so were the Thalmor. More than once he had seen the black-robed figures escorting a prisoner to Talos knows where with two armed guards with them. Ralof had been right, he surmised, a storm was coming, and he needed to find a way to weather it.

* * *

_**Skyrim proves to be a harsh land indeed for young Tarrin as he finds the differences in battle to be all too real. With a new companion at his side, the young man sets his sights on his new mine in hopes of becoming successful in this time of war, and moves to confront a man he once believed to be his friend.**_

_**Please leave a review if you liked the chapter!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**3: The Broken Arrow**_

* * *

Tarrin looked at the entrance of Falkreath with mixed feelings as he and Blood-fang stood atop a small cropping of rocks above the city. On one hand, he needed to see Lod and sell his armor and ingots before he spoke with Siddgeir. Then there was dealing with the young Jarl himself.

Beside him, Blood-fang growled.

"Still," Tarrin soothed him, reaching down to pet him, and the wolf immediately quieted. Tarrin looked down over the city once again, wondering what had alerted the animal. His sharp eyes honed in on a man walking toward the longhouse in a familiar brown armor.

"Imperials," Tarrin breathed out, watching the man enter the house. "Looks like I need to be more careful than I thought, eh, Fang?"

The wolf snorted, baring his fangs in the house's direction. Tarrin grinned and ruffled the massive wolf's fur, "No worries, boy, if push comes to shove, you'll get a mouthful of a Jarl's backside if Siddgeir tries anything." Blood-fang seemed to grin at that, looking up at his human companion with his tongue lolling to the side. Tarrin sighed, and started climbing down toward the city, keeping well out of sight until he hit the road again, and simply walked right up to the gate with the wolf by his side.

"What the - ?! HALT!" Yelled the guard, and drew his sword.

"Hey, hold on a minute!" Tarrin yelled as Blood-fang bristled, "It's Tarrin! Remember? The scrawny lad?"

"Tarrin?" The guard asked, "By the gods, lad, you gave me a scare!" He took off his helmet. He was a larger Nordic man with a black mane of hair and a long beard that was twisted into braids on both sides of his face, "You probably don't remember me, but it's Uther. I was with Angus when you first came here!"

Tarrin grinned as his wolf friend settled down, "Of course I remember you. You were the one that started teasing me first about how small I am!"

Uther smiled. "I certainly won't be teasing you now, lad, at least not with that wee beastie ye have there!"

Blood-fang didn't take kindly to being refered to as _wee_, and growled, though he didn't show his teeth. Tarrin chuckled and reached down to scratch his ears, "Careful with what you say around him. His rather sensitive."

"Oh, no worries about that, lad," he said, holding up his hands, "wouldn't want an ice wolf angry at me."

"Ice wolf?" Tarrin asked.

"A young one," Uther nodded, "Hardy beasts, these fellas, strong and faster than the lowland wolves we 'ave around here. Bigger, too, twice as big as what a normal wolf would be."

"Huh," Tarrin grinned as Blood-fang panted delightedly from the attention, "So that's what you are? I was wondering why you acted like a puppy." To this, the wolf yipped and gave Tarrin's face a lick, "Yeech!"

Uther chuckled, then sobered up a moment later, "What the hell are you doin' back here, lad? You know that bastard I 'ave to call my Jarl 'as it in for you!"

"Yes, I did notice that when he sent me after a group of bandits," Tarrin snapped, then let the heavy load he was carrying slide off of his back and hit the ground with a loud clatter of metal. "If it weren't for Fang here, I'd be singing for the heroes of Sovngarde!"

"Roff!" The wolf huffed in agreement, shaking off his own burden.

Uther's eyes widened, "You mean you got them? All of them?"

"Every last one," Tarrin said, but a growl from his furry friend corrected him, "Well, Fang took the leader down."

"Talos, it's a miracle," Uther sighed in relief, "That band of thugs 'as been after us for ages now!"

"Yes, well maybe this wouldn't have happened if Siddgeir had just paid them and been done with the lot of them!" Tarrin growled, then started dragging his packs into the city toward Lod's forge, "Now I need to see Lod and get rid of these weapons and armaments, then I can give dear old Sid a nice little surprise!"

Uther nearly tripped over himself as Tarrin bumbled past him, "Hold on a moment! You can't see him! there's Imperials about!"

"I know," Tarrin sighed, "That's why I need to be quick. Besides, I doubt they'd do anything - "

"There's a bounty on yer 'ead!" Uther growled.

Tarrin stopped dead in his tracks, turning around slowly, "What did you say?"

"I said that there is a bounty on yer 'ead, lad." Uther sighed, "The Imperials showed up not long after you left for Knifepoint Ridge, lookin' for ya, and offerin' up a nice bit o' coin for you. Siddgeir doubled it, sayin' that any friend o' the Stormcloaks, was an enemy o' his."

A growl not unlike Blood-fang's erupted from Tarrin's chest, "You can't be serious!"

"Afraid so, lad," Uther hung his head, "That's why you need to get out o' 'ere! Be damned with the reward for those bandits! If they see you, then it's goin' ta be war! They'll hunt ye like a beast!"

For a moment, Tarrin thought about leaving his little hoard and making a run for it, but something inside him was roaring at him to march right up to Siddgeir and put an arrow through his thick skull!

"Help me get this junk to Lod's," Tarrin growled, and marched on. Uther grumbled something, but grabbed the pack all the same and helped the boy.

xXx

"By Ysmir!" Lod nearly shouted upon seeing Tarrin, "What the hell are you doing here again?!"

"Happy to see me, eh?" Tarrin quipped as he, Uther and Blood-fang stepped onto his porch, and the young man flung down his load, "I know about the bounty, now, Lod, but I need to sell this armor! It's the only thing I can do to get a horse!"

"I - but - Lad, how did you - " Lod stumbled at the sight of both the loads of armor and weapons, and the wolf that seemed to be glued to Tarrin's side.

"No time," Uther growled, "Hate to say this, but the lad's right, he'll be needing a good horse if he's to out run those Imperial bastards!"

"I'm half Imperial," Tarrin grumbled.

"Sorry," Uther chuckled.

"Argh, you're both idiots!" Lod smacked his head tiredly, "Alright, let's see what you've got in here..." Minutes later both packs were strewn out all over Lod's porch. To both men's surprise, Tarrin had a great load of steel, iron, and corodium in both packs, as well as good steel armor that had been looted from their own caravans.

Lod grinned as he looked over the haul, "You done good, lad, this is all fine metal. Weapons nicely honed, armors not too banged up...and these ingots aren't half bad either, too bad I can't give you those lessons you wanted."

"Aye, tha's a cryin' shame," Uther said, "Well, Lod, how much can ye give 'im?"

Lod smiled, "All I have, and then some."

Tarrin looked a little worried, "Lod, there's no need to break you pouch over this. I just need the horse, and that's all."

Lod shook his head, "Nay, lad, you'll need more than that." He stepped around his forge, reaching down to bring out a large bundle, "When we heard what Siddgeir did, Nenya and Dengeir commissioned something special." He set the bundle down on his workbench, unwrapping it to reveal another set of steel armor with shoulder pauldrons and a horned helmet, "Nenya enchanted this with a special seal to make it lighter, so you won't have any problems running in it."

Tarrin smiled, looking over the armor, "This is...Lod, you didn't have to do this!"

"I did," Lod sighed, "I owed it to you. I...I've been sending messages to General Tullius since Siddgeir became the Jarl...I wanted him to see what kind of man he is, but that only served to lead his men straight to you, lad."

The blacksmith hung his head sadly, but Tarrin had already forgiven him. He stripped off his leather armor, cuirass first, sliding off the gauntlets, and started donning his new armor.

"Ya know," Uther grinned, "I don't even recognize the lad. This could be good."

"Agreed," Lod nodded, "If he can fool Siddgeir, then there's a chance he can get out of here with a bit more gold." He said, then bent over the bundle and lifted out a steel Nordic greatsword (_AN: this is the Nordic Hero Greatsword which looks like the Ancient Nord Greatsword_), "This has the same enchantment on it, so it will be lighter to weild, and it has a flame enchantment on it. Nenya wanted you to be safe."

Tarrin took the sword, surprised at how light the blade felt in his hands, "I'll have to thank her, somehow."

"First Altmer I've ever like, that one," Uther smiled, "Where to now, lad?"

Tarrin smiled as he set the horned helmet on his head, and looked toward the longhouse, "I think me and little Blood-fang are going to put the fear of Talos into dear old Siddgeir. Lod, is there a horse I can buy around here?"

"Ah, Tarrin, you aren't going to kill him, are you?" Lod asked nervously even as the wolf growled. "I know he's a rotter, but Dengeir still cares for him."

Tarrin shook his head, "No, much as he deseves it, I won't kill him. I just want that horse so I can out run those soldiers. And some saddle bags to put what gold I have left in."

"I'll see to it," Uther said, "One o' them Khajiit's came through the city a day or so back and sold a nice little fellow. Fast bugger, but no' verra big."

"That's all I need," Tarrin smiled, "Could you make the purchase? I'll trust you with the gold Lod has for me."

"Glad to, lad," Uther patted him on the shoulder, "If ye do happen to kill that lyin' bastard, poke him once fer me, eh?"

Tarrin grinned at him before strapping the massive sword to his back, and moving toward the Jarl's home.

xXx

"So you haven't found him yet?" Siddgeir asked in his normally bored, uncaring tone, "Well, it's been almost two weeks since I sent him on that fool's quest against those bandits, so he must be dead."

"Yes, I have to agree with you there, Lord Siddgeir," said the Imperial soldier he had been speaking to, "No man, especially one that scrawny, could go against so many bandits alone, especially when one was Narzul the Giant. That Orc is enormous."

"Was enormous," said a voice as the door crashed open. Siddgeir jumped up from his throne, drawing his sword as did the Imperials, and Dengeir as well. But the figure that stood in the door remained where he stood, and toss a helmet inside that rolled to the feet of the young Jarl. Siddgeir looked down at it and saw that it was an Orcish helmet. "I believe you'll recognize that. It came from the head of a giant Orc that my friend here helped me bring down."

At the mention of his friend, a low growl emanated from behind him as a large white wolf lumbered in, baring his fangs at the men and their weapons. Siddgeir yelped and nearly dropped his blade, "Who in Oblivion are you?!"

"My name is not important," said the stranger, stepping into the hall, "What is important is the gold that was promised for his death. Five hundred septims for one dead Orc and his merry band of bandits!"

"S-stay where you are!" One of the Imperials yelled, brandishing his sword threateningly, but the stranger quickly pulled a bow from his back, and loosed an arrow at the man, sending the dart through his pauldron, and pinning him against a beam. The wolf growled loudly, the hackles on his back rising, causing the men to step back, none willing to risk the beast's wrath.

"Five hundred septims," the stranger said again, his voice dragging out a small memory from the Jarl, "Or an arrow through your heart...your choice."

Siddgeir shook with fear as the man leveled his bow at his heart, the string already drawn back, the steel arrowhead gleaming in the dim light. "Who are you?"

"I said it doesn't matter," he said, but Siddgeir had seen his build through the steel armor. He wasn't a large man, that was for certain. He was small, very small, and Siddgeir only knew one person with such a build.

"Tarrin?!"

Tarring grinned, "Finally figured it out, did you? So sorry I couldn't die as you wanted _my Jarl_." He said mockingly, and reached up to take the helmet from his head, "I've been through hell the last week, and I have you to thank for it."

Siddgeir was terrified. This was not the same boy that he'd sent to his death. It was the cold look in his eye that he feared. Tarrin had killed, and he was prepared to kill again, at that very moment if things didn't go his way.

"I have the gold," Dengeir said, holding up a bulging bag, "All five hundred, set aside for whoever killed the bandits. It's your's, so long as you leave my nephew his life."

Tarrin made a motion with his head, and Blood-fang, still snarling, bounded forward. Dengeir was a little taken aback as the wolf now stood before him, simply staring at him. Then he set the bag of gold on the ground, as the wolf had been apparently waiting for this, and Blood-fang picked it up in his jaws turning to make his way back to his master.

Tarrin smiled as the wolf huffed at him and sat on his haunched beside him. "Siddgeir," he said, turning his attention back to the Jarl, "You've heard my story, and yet you ally yourself with these soldiers who know no honor...I'd say that you match them well."

Siddgeir growled, but kept his mouth closed. Tarrin then looked at Dengeir, and nodded sadly. "I'll be leaving Falkreath now, until I can look the Jarl in the eye and not see a sniveling coward." He backed out of the hall, casting his gaze up, and saw Nenya smiling down at him unnoticed by the men. Tarrin offered her a quick smile of thanks, and whirled out the door.

Siddgeir growled, his face contorted with rage, "AFTER HIM!"

Tarrin sped down the street with the wolf lopping beside him, the bag of gold still in his mouth. Siddgeir's shout had been heard all around the city, and it brought the guards running. Angus saw him first and grabbed him, leading him away from the others. "Come, lad, Uther has yer mount ready." He hissed, "We all support you, but we need to make it look like you pushed through us."

"Right," Tarring grinned as he heard the men behind him clashing with each other, "What about you, then?"

"Uther's goin' to give me a black eye," Angus grinned.

"Damn right I will!" Uther growled, leading a lean black horse toward them, "Tarrin, hurry up! I can already hear the Imperial's shounting at my men!"

"Thank you both," Tarrin smiled as he grabbed the bag from Blood-fang, and swung into the beast's saddle, "I'll never be able to repay you for this!"

"Ah, lad, just buy the mead the next time you're in town, or when we meet next," Angsus smiled, then whirled around and cracked Uther right in the nose.

"Argh, ye said ye'd go for t'e jaw!" Uther growled, holding his broken nose, before punching the man square in the face, knocking him to the ground. He then whirled around and gave the horse a good sound smack on the rump sending it charging with Tarrin riding steadily. He smiled madly as the wind rushed by him and as he plowed through the soldiers that got in his way.

Blood-fang snarled, ripping at a few legs as he ran by, keeping them from following.

"Someone stop that man!" He heard Siddgeir yell, "Archers! Kill the horse!"

Tarring grinned as he passed the city gates, and drove his horse into the woods as a hail of arrows ripped through the air, burying their tips in the trees. There was no way they'd hit him if he kept himself in the trees for cover. Anyone who knew how to use a bow knew that striking a fast-moving target that was weaving through the trees took a master shot.

His horse snorted as he led the beast through the trees toward Helgen, where he would hopefully lose them and double back to his mine. A fool's hope, it turned out to be as Tarrin's ear picked up the sounds of beating hooves.

An arrow whistled past his ear, startling him. Tarrin cursed and drove his horse faster. A second arrow bounced off his armor, thankfully, but Tarrin could do little to stop them. He had to get away.

He looked back and saw that there was a fair distance between them now, thanks to his horse. He smiled and patted the animal, "Keep going, friend, you're doing fine!"

The horse snorted, and seemed to quicken its pace.

Tarrin grinned again at the horse, and then heard a familiar sound like an angry hornet's nest before an arrow slammed into his side through a chink in his armor. A screaming pain erupted from his left side as the arrow pierced him, stopping only because it struck the inside of his armor at his front. "Damn."

He looked up at the sky. The sun was beginning it's slow descent toward the West. If he could make it to night, then he could hide in the darkness. But then there was the searing pain in his abdomen. He could already feel a lot of blood flowing down his front and back from the wound.

"Just a little further," he panted. Beside him, he heard Blood-fang whimper, "Just a little further, my friend."

xXx

The sun finally set as Tarrin all but fell from his saddle. He had managed to get away for the time being, but he knew that the soldiers wouldn't leave him be until he was dead.

Blood-fang came over to him and licked his face gently, whining sadly as he smelled Tarrin's blood. Tarrin smiled and petted him, "It's alright, boy, it's just one arrow."

He was lying, to himself, as well as to the wolf. The arrow was barbed, meant to bleed the target to death, or cause infection from a poison it was dipped in. He suspected this one was the latter, since he was still breathing. But he had to get it out. He looked around in the rapidly fading light of day for anything that might help, and spotted a busle of yellow mountain flower. He grimaced, the flower not being his first choice. It would fight off infection, but it would slow him down, causing exhaustion throughout his body.

But he had little choice. He undid his armor, revealing his bloodied tunic, and the barbed arrow protruding from his stomach. Lucky for him it hadn't pierced his organs, or it would be much more painful.

"Gotta get this thing out, first," he groaned, and grasped the arrow with both hands, preparing to pull it out. The moment he did, the blinding pain returned, but he ground his teeth and started pulling, feeling the arrow give. With a loud scream, Tarrin pulled the arrow free of his body and tossed it away. He then grabbed a handful of the flowers and shoved them into his mouth, chewing until he had a poultice which he spat back out and applied to his wound.

It stung like fire, but he endured it as he placed another glob on his back with some difficulty. He could already feel the drain on his body from the flower. He wasn't going anywhere tonight.

He felt a gentle nudge at his shoulder, and the horse nickered at him. He reached up and rubbed his nose, "You were brilliant today. I couldn't have asked for a better horse." He said, then laid out on the ground, preparing to sleep. Blood-fang whined again, and laid beside him. Tarrin smiled as the warmth from his companion seeped into him.

xXx

"Gerdur, how is Hod's leg doing?" Ralof asked as he brough his axe down on a piece of wood, "Can't imagine falling off the roof did it any good?"

His sister smiled kindly at him, "No, it didn't. Lovable fool just wanted to make sure the roof had no holes." She smiled at her husband's bad luck, "I truly appreciate the help, Ralof, I know you have your own duties - "

"I can't stay here and not pay back your kindness, sister," Ralof grinned, "What with all the trou - What in Oblivion?!"

"What?" The woman turned around, and nearly fainted as a lean, black horse strode into town, a bloodied warrior on his back, and a wolf at his side, looking up at the man with what she thought might be concern, "Oh, Talos!"

"Quickly, go get the healer!" Ralof roared, rushing to the man's side. The wolf moved away as Ralof took the man down from the saddle, and removed his helmet, only to be met by a young, familiar face. "Oh, gods, Tarrin!"

xXx

"You lost him?!" Elonwen yelled, slapping the soldier across the face, "How dare you show your face to me when you have failed!"

"I-I'm sorry, M'lady, but he rode fast and hard until dark!" The poor man stammered, "He had a black mount, and it was impossible to see it during the night!"

"I don't want excuses," the she-elf growled, "I want that Nord's head on a spike!"

"Perhaps I should go this time?" Another Altmer asked, this one a male, tall, muscular and wearing a cruel sneer, "I'm fairly skilled with my bow, and have knowledge of various deadly poisons."

"Yes," she said, "We must stop him before he gets to Whiterun. Once he's there, attacking would be like declaring war..."

xXx

Tarrin opened his eyes with a groan, the pain in his side throbbing through him, "Where am I?"

"Riverwood, old friend," said a voice to his left.

Tarrin looked up, his vision slightly blurred, but he soon made out the smiling face of a Stormcloak soldier he knew, "Ralof? Oh, gods am I glad to see you!" He cried, throwing his arms around the big man's neck, "I hoped you'd made it home!"

Ralof laughed and thumped him on the back gently, "I did, lad, but what about you? I thought you'd gone to one of the mining towns?"

Tarrin quickly explained his situation, and Ralof growled, "Siddgeir, that little traitor! And the Imperials are after you still?"

"Yeah," Tarrin nodded, "They must think I'm fairly high up on Stormcloak ranking."

Ralof nodded, "Things have been rough since our escape. There's been no more sign of that dragon or any other of its kind yet, but it's got the land in an uproar. And the Thalmor are rounding up more Talos worshippers by the day. I've seen a few soldiers milling about the villages since yesterday, too."

Tarrin groaned, sitting up on the bed, "Then I need to get out of here. If they find me, then they'll find you!"

"But you're injured!" Ralof protested, pointing at the bandage around Tarrin's middle that was stained with blood, "You've lost a lot of blood, lad, and you need rest!"

"I can rest later!" Tarrin growled, looking around for his armor, "Are my horse and wolf alright?"

"The horse is outside," Ralof sighed, seeing there was no stopping him, "The wolf's been keeping to the trees, watching the house." He watched as Tarrin found his armor and started strapping it on, "If you're hell-bent on this, Tarrin, then you should get to Whiterun. You'll be safe there."

"Whiterun, huh?" Tarrin said, clipping his chest plate into place. "Well, this is as good a time to tell the Jarl about the dragon as any."

"If you can get by all the Imperials," a woman's voice said, and a tall, blonde Nord woman entered the room, "A company of the bastards just rode in with a Thalmor elf with them."

Tarrin grit his teeth, "Dammit, it's too soon for them to catch up!"

"You've been here for two days, lad," Ralof said gently, catching the boy by surprise, "You'd lost a lot of blood..."

"Right," Tarrin sighed, "I need to get out of here, now."

"Gerdur, can you take him out the back?" Ralof asked, "I'll see if I can lead the horse around for you."

Tarrin nodded, "Be careful."

Gerdur took him by the hand and led him through the house, and out the back, "The river there runs past Whiterun plains, you follow it, and you'll be safe." Ralof then came around leading Tarrin's horse, who snorted at him in greeting.

"Good horse, this one," Ralof grinned, "The soldiers are checking the tavern right now. Delphine's not too happy about that. That Thalmor fellow is milling around the farms so you should be fine."

"Thanks for the help," the boy said, and swung up into the saddle, wincing from his wound, "I owe you both my life."

Ralof grinned, "Just stay alive, Tarrin, and give those Imperials hell."

Tarrin grinned, "I'll see you in Windhelm, Ralof." Then he spurred his horse on into the river.

"Take care, lad," Gerdur called softly.

Ralof smiled, "Come, let's get inside before we're spotted."

As Tarrin's horse plowed into the water, he caught sight of Blood-fang running along the river bank toward him. The river wasn't deep, at least not where he was crossing, but the water was cold, and made him shiver. His body was still weak from the loss of blood, and hunger which made the bite of the cold worse as they reached the opposite bank.

The wolf yipped at him happily, jumping and bounding around his horse. Tarrin grinned down at him, "One last run, friend, and we're safe."

Soon the black mount was running down the path, full-pelt toward Whiterun. Tarrin grinned slightly as Riverwood grew smaller, "Looks like we're out of the fire," he smiled as they rounded a bend in the road...only to blunder into a group of Imperials.

"That's him! That's the outlaw!"

"Someone grab him!"

Cursing profusely, Tarrin plowed right through them, trampling any that got in his path. Blood-fang lept into the fray, snapping his jaws down on the downed men, silencing them before tearing after his master. Behind him, someone blew a horn calling for reinforcements.

The pounding of horses' hooves shook the ground.

xXx

"Aela, watch your back!" Vilkas roared.

"Shut up and bring the bastard down!" Yelled the woman he'd roared at.

"Argue later!" Farkas yelled at both of them, dodging a swipe from the giant's massive club, "I can't very well take this thing down on my own!"

Vilkas chuckled, "Getting a little up there in years, Brother?"

"Will you shut up!" He yelled at his twin.

The giant growled and hefted its club, bringing it down almost on top of Farkas.

Aela laughed before loosing an arrow at the monster's head, drawing a roar of pain from its throat. Then a roar went up, but it didn't come from the giant. Confused, the three warriors paused a moment before the giant swung its club again, but Vilkas rolled, and brought his sword up into the beast's ribs. The giant then fell dead at the man's feet.

"About time," Vilkas sighed, "Been at this thing all morning, and it's only just now going down."

"At least we got the job done," Aela put in, looking out over the fields, "Wonder what that shout was? Sounded like a man."

Farkas shook his head, "More than one man. I - Look, up on the hill!"

The two warriors turned toward the mountainous trail leading to Riverwood, and were shocked. Bounding down the rocky forest cliff was a small black horse and rider with a white wolf bounding beside them. That wasn't as surprising as the number of men pursuing them. Behind the trio was a larger number, some sixty Imperials chasing them down.

"What's that all about?" Vilkas mumbled, scratching his head.

"An outlaw?" Farkas suggested, reaching for his warhammer.

"With that many men after him?" Aela grumbled, "I don't think so. This is something else."

Across the field the horse and rider stumbled as the rider was apparently struck by an arrow. The rider rolled to his feet weakly, drawing a massive sword that dwarfed even Vilkas' steel greatsword.

"This should be interesting," Aela said, watching the man and the wolf stand up. "Is that wolf going to fight with him?"

"No idea," Farkas said, "But you should go get the Jarl, he'll want to know about this."

Aela growled at him, "Why me? I want to see the fight!"

"You're faster than we are," Vilkas pointed out, "Besides, I doubt this will be much of a fight...it's one against...what? A hundred?"

"I can't tell," Farkas admitted, "They're all crawling around like ants. But if you want to see anything, Aela, you'd better get going."

Aela growled, "Fine, but you two owe me." The female warrior took off, running at full speed.

Tarrin sighed as he watched the advancing Imperial soldiers. Beside him, Blood-fang growled, more than ready for the fight to come. The arrow that had knocked him from the saddle was buried in his right shoulder. Not a dangerous spot, nor very deep since he could feel the tip against his shoulder-blade. The Imperials advanced on him carefully, wary of his massive sword, the black blade gleaming in the noon sun.

"Tarrin of Cyrodil," yelled one of the soldiers, "You are charged with murder of Imperial soldiers, and aiding the Stormcloaks. Surrender, and come with us peacefully, and you may be given leniency!"

Tarrin wanted to laugh. Each man facing him had his sword drawn, ready to kill him if he resisted. It made him want to fight, fight like he had never fought before. If he was to die here, then at least he could die fighting the way his father dreamed.

And then he did smile, something that made the soldiers flinch. In the young man's eyes was a resolve so strong that no even death would stay his hand. To these Imperials, the boy they had been sent after was supposed to be small, thin, and inexperienced. Under the shadow of his helmet, Tarrin's eyes told them a different story.

That same resolve they had seen turned to a cold, hard gaze that pierced through them. The smile on his face was one of someone that no longer cared if he lived for another day, or if he had mere moments before his death.

Back on the hills, hidden in the trees, a single Thalmor sat atop his horse, a bow sitting in his lap, and and arrow ready to be drawn. With his Elvish hearing, he was able to hear the words the boy spoke next. "Go to hell."

The next moment, Tarrin let loose a roar from his throat like a wild beast and charged.

The nearest Imperials faltered from the shout, sealing their fates as the young Nord swung his sword high in a deadly arc with surprising speed that didn't match either the boy or the sword's size.

Tarrin's blade came down on the first man, cleaving him open neck to hip before he burst into flames, and Tarrin jumped at the next soldier and pierced him through the stomach, the enchantment causing the same effect. Snapping out of their daze, the Imperials attacked. The wolf howled and barreled into the fray, leaping at the first man to get in his path, and ripping into his throat savagely. Not caring if his prey was alive or dead, Blood-fang released him and pounced on another as blood sprayed from the man's throat, showering the wolf in red.

Tarrin grinned madly as he wielded his blade, cutting through shields and armor, no longer feeling the pain from his wounds. An Imperial roared and charged him, his sword raised, and Tarrin spun around, his sword sweeping out behind him as the soldier tried to stop his advance, too late. He was sent flying as the blade cut into his stomach, fire engulfing him as he hit the ground. Tarrin didn't linger on his target long before switching to another. The Imperial steel swords were no match for his Nordic blade, and shattered when the polished blackish metal crashed down on them.

Shields splintered under his assault, or bounced off his blade when he blocked them.

Further back, Imperial archers readied their bows as the Nord whirled around in a miniature tempest amidst their comrades. They fired their arrows, taking careful aim in hopes of avoiding their men.

Tarrin saw them coming and stabbed the closest soldier through the chest and brought the corpse up as a shield. The arrows thumped into the dead Imperial and Tarrin threw him off, bring the pommel of his sword down on the head of the next soldier that got close to him before reversing the blade and plunging it down on him. That was when the next wave of arrows came.

He managed to knock some away from him, but the darts found a home in his body, buried in his legs and right shoulder. His legs nearly buckled right there before he plunged his blade into the ground for support. Seeing their chance, a group rushed him all at once. Tarrin growled before raising his sword up resting it on his shoulder a moment before rushing into them, swing the blade off his back and cleaving the men in front of him before spinning around to hack the ones he'd missed.

A shadow passed over him and he expected to be cut down right there, only for Blood-fang come charging into the soldier's back with his fangs wrapped tightly on the man's neck. The wolf was bloody but otherwise unwounded, and Tarrin smiled at his friend. "A good day to die, my friend."

xXx

"Aela, what's got you in such a hurry?" A young woman asked as the Companion barged into Dragonsreach.

Aela was sweaty and panting for breath, "No time, Lydia," she gasped, "Fight down in the plains...one man against...lots of Imperials!"

"What was that?" Asked a man further into the hall. He sat on a throne in a slight slouch, looking rather bored, "Did you say there's a fight in my holdings?"

"Yes, Jarl Balgruuf," Aela panted, gaining some of her breath back, "I don't know why, but a horde of Imperial soldiers was chasing after a young rider, and wounded him. Instead of running or giving up, it looks like he's fighting them all!" She said, drawing looks from the other people in the hall, "From what I could see at the gates, he was holding his own."

Balgruuf thougt for a moment, then smile, rising from his throne, "Saddle my horse. Farengar, you come as well, I might need you, Hrongar you as well."

"Brother, what are you going to do?" Hrongar asked, smiling, "We going to help this lad?"

"Perhaps," Balgruuf smiled, "If he's brave enough to take on that many men, then he's either very skilled - "

"Or exceedingly stupid," muttered a Dunmer woman at his side, "Honestly, I'll never understand why men take such risks."

"Irileth," Balgruuf grinned, "You know me better than that. I merely wish to see this...spectacal."

"And relieve your tired rump from sitting on that throne," she quipped, shrugging when the man cast her a hurt look, "I much prefer that you kept my job easier by staying here in the castle."

Hrongar laughed, "Give the man his due, Irileth. It's been a long time since something like this has happened."

"Shall we go too then?" Lydia asked the dark elf.

Raising her eyes to the heavens as if to ask whatever gods existed why she had to go through this, Irileth sighed, "Alright, for the sake of my Jarl, I will accompany you. Lydia, you'd best stay close to me. You're still young when it comes to battle."

The girl pouted, "I'm sixteen, Lady Irileth, so I'm an adult, and in no need of codling!"

"Says the child that still likes crawling into bed with me when she has a bad dream," Irileth said without missing a beat.

"Irileth!"

xXx

Tarrin was tired, beyond tired, he was exhausted. His body was now a pin cushion with arrows protruding from his armor and flesh alike. Blood covered him from head to toe, both his own and his enemies, his sword dripped with the red liquid, glowing with the burning light of the fiery spell. All around him were the flaming corpses of those that had failed to kill him.

Off to his left, Blood-fang stood, drenched from head to tail as well, though now the wolf sported wounds of his own, and was panting, his tongue nearly touching the ground as he rested for a few moments.

The remaining soldiers were stunned, but above all else, frightened. The boy's helmet was gone, lying on the ground somewhere, covering the his face with lines of blood and staining his hair almost black. His eyes were dead to all else save for them, waiting for his next victim.

Further away, hidden behind a farm house, the twin brothers were equally stunned by the battle.

"One man did all that?" Vilkas said in wonder.

"If I hadn't seen it, Brother, I wouldn't have believed it myself," Farkas said, "He'd make a great Companion if he lives."

Vilkas smiled, "Care to make a wager?"

"Forty septims on the kid," Farkas said, also smiling. But then his eyes caught a glint in the trees. He looked up, his eyes seeing further than any normal man, and caught sight of a black-robed man holding a bow trained on the center of the battle. "That coward!" Farkas growled, then shouted, "Look out, lad!"

Tarrin snapped his eyes up just as the figure loosed his arrow, the dart screaming toward him like an angry wasp. Tarrin's arms were too weak to block with his sword now. As an archer, he was used to facing others in tests of skill. He raised his hand, spreading his fingers out. The arrow flew straight toward his heart, and the Thalmor yelled in triumph.

Tarrin's sword fell from his shoulder, and the boy reached for his bow, the weapon badly damaged from the battle after taking hits. He stepped aside just as the arrow would have reached him, and closed his fingers around it.

"What?!" The elf roared before Tarrin expertly twirled the arrow around, and set it against his bowstring. He drew it back slowly, the muscles in his back screaming in protest until he was at full draw. The string frayed, threatening to snap as Tarrin took aim. Seeing the danger, the elf attempted to wheel his horse around, but there was little enough room to do so as he was sitting on the edge of the cliff, and Tarrin let the arrow fly.

The Altmer barely had time to shout as the arrow found his heart with a meaty smack that resounded across the field. The elf let out a strangled scream as he fell from his horse, dead before he hit the ground.

Tarrin felt a small smile creep to his face as satisfaction washed over him; he'd killed his first high elf, something he'd wanted to do since he'd seen how they treated their prisoners.

"From that distance - ?" One the soldiers said in awe.

"He's so wounded," another said.

"He caught the arrow," said a third.

All around him, the men began backing away as Tarrin picked up his sword again, and swung it over his shoulder. His vision was weak now, and his body felt oddly cold, but he still felt he needed to fight, to make these kinsmen of his see what he was capable of. Then he looked around himself, seeing the countless bodies of warriors he had slain.

How long had this been going on, he wondered casting his gaze up. The sun was no longer high above him, but setting toward the west again. No wonder he felt so tired.

He brought his gaze back to the soldiers surrounding him, "Who's next?"

The soldiers stepped back, but Tarrin smiled wildly, having none of that. With one last roar, he ran forward, beginning the fight anew. Fire and blood erupted around him as the soldier fought for their lives, wounding him, and dying by his blade. Blood-fang's loud howling accompanied his roar as the wolf summoned up the last of his strength to rip into the remaining Imperials.

Tarrin was whirling in a wild dance as his sword became weightless in his grasp. The blade slicing and burning his foes, showering him with gore and embers.

xXx

Balgruuf and his small band of warrior came upon a sight not unlike a war field. Carian birds circled over head, descending to feast upon the dead while wolves and skeevers moved in from the forest, not even bothering about each other. There was plenty to go around.

"What in the name of Talos happened here?" Hrongar asked as he surveyed the battle ground, "One man can't have done all this!"

Balgruuf grunted, but said nothing as Irileth and Lydia looked across the field, the young Nord woman looking slightly sickened at the burned remains. Aela searched the field for her companions, spotting them as they made their way off the field carrying someone between them and being followed by a bloodied white wolf.

"Farkas, Vilkas!" She called out, "Is that him?"

"It is," both brothers answered.

"He's alive," Farkas said, "But just barely. He needs a healer now if he's going to live."

"Farengar," Balgruuf called.

"At once, My Lord," the mage said, jumping down from his horse, "Lydia, a hand, please?"

"Of course," the girl said, joining him. The twins laid the boy down for Lydia to cradle his head in her lap while Farengar looked him over. The wold came right up to her, crawling low on his belly in a sign of submission she'd seen from dogs, and licked at her hand that was supporting his shoulder. Lydia offered the beast what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Such terrible wounds," he said, paying the wolf no mind and plucking at a broken arrow, "I can't do anything for him here. I need to get these arrows out if I'm going to heal him completely."

"Alright," Balgruuf nodded, "We'll take him back to the castle. Irileth, once we're inside the walls, ride to Arcadia's and bring her to me. She might be able to assist Farengar."

While the Jarl was barking out his orders, Lydia was gazing down at the young warrior's face. He truly was young, perhaps younger than she, which saddened her to some degree. His face, once handsome, was now marred by a jagged wound running down from his scalp over his left eye, which, thankfully, seemed undamaged.

"Why," she asked, "Why would the Imperials do this?"

* * *

**_And so the young man's fate rests with the Jarl of Whiterun._**

**_Please review if you liked the chapter!_**


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN: As some of you have pointed out, though you also enjoyed it, the battle Tarrin fought seemed fairly overpowered, though remember that his armor and weapon have an enchantment on them, explaining his speed, but the main thing that I would like to point out is that Tarrin, in the previous chapter, had gone berserk. He felt no pain, heard no sound, all he cared about was swinging his sword, and how he would kill his enemies.**_

_**4: Winter Comes**_

* * *

"Has he not woken yet?" Balgruuf asked as he strode into the room where Tarrin lay. Lydia raised her head from her book as she looked up at he Jarl.

"No, my Jarl," she said sadly, shaking her head, "Not a movement in these last three days."

The Jarl nodded, sighing, "Take heart, child. After all, he has been through a lot. From what I've heard, that wasn't his first run-in with the Imperials and the Thalmor." At the mention of the elves, Blood-fang, who had curled up at Lydia's feet raised his head and growled. The Jarl shook his head at the beast. "Bite me and I'll be biting you right back, Wolf." The young ice wolf snorted, and placed his large head back on his paws.

Lydia smiled, "He's a good beast," she said, reaching down to pet him, making him whine appreciatively, "I've never seen such a tame wolf, let alone an ice wolf...I hope I can ask this boy how he got him."

The Jarl smiled as the girl turned her attention back to the boy. Ever since they had brought the boy in, the young shield maiden had barely left his side. Irileth teased the girl mercilessly, of course, but that mattered little to anyone anymore. Many had their eye on the girl, but she had turned her nose up at each and every suitor that had come to call.

Now it seemed that the young warrior had caught her eye. Balgruuf was looking forward to seeing the two interact when he woke. "He will be fine, Lydia. After so many wounds inflicted, he should have died long before we got to him, but he didn't. The gods must have something in mind for this boy, and something great."

Lydia nodded, smiling as Tarrin mumbled something in his sleep, "Farkas said he had the smell of a beast...what do you think he meant by that?"

The Jarl shrugged, "Who knows, really. The Companions have always relied on their bestial senses to decide on a person's character, so perhaps they'll ask this lad to join them when he - "

"They won't make him a werewolf, will they?!" Lydia gasped, the book slipping from her hands.

"Not so loud, lassie!" Balgruuf hushed her, "Not everyone knows about them!"

"S-sorry," the girl calmed herself, "It's just...my parents..."

"Ah, I know, child, I know," the Jarl nodded, "But that beast what done it was wild and not in control of itself. Not all lycans are like that. Farkas and Vilkas are perfect examples."

"Yes, but - "

"Lydia, child, just have a little faith in the Divines," he smiled, reaching out to place his hand on her shoulder, "When he wakes, and he will, we'll just have to wait and see what he decides. In the meantime, Irileth wants to talk to you about something. You'd best get going. You know how she gets when she's kept waiting."

Lydia giggled at the mention of her surrogate mother's temper. In the years she had known her, Irileth's temper had become as legendary as her loyalty to the Jarl. "Do you happen to know what she wanted?"

"No idea," he smiled, turning from the room, "That's for you to find out."

Huffing, Lydia picked up her book from the floor and placed it on the end table next to the bed. Blood-fang looked up at her in interest as he watched her go, turning back to the wolf with a small smile, "Keep an eye on him." She said, receiving a yip for her words.

Smiling at the beast, she turned and left the room, hurrying through the hall to find Irileth.

xXx

"And you're sure the scent was the same?" Irileth asked, facing the two Companions, Farkas and Vilkas, "There's no mistake?"

"No," Farkas answered with his brother's accompanying nod, "The scent is that of a lycan, but it's faint, like an old scent, yet he smells so strongly of one of us that it's no question what he is."

Irileth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Lydia is not going to like this...she's terrified of werewolves."

"We know," Vilkas said, "But, unlike my brother, I think the boy is mortal, someone in his family may have been a lycan, but that doesn't mean he is."

Farkas turned to him with his brow raised, "The scent was in his blood, Vilkas, how can you deny it?"

"Easy," Vilkas said, "The whelp's father may have been a lycan, meaning that he may or may not change. You know most younglings change around fifteen, and the boy looks to be the proper age."

"That's if his father was blooded," Farkas pointed out, "If he was bitten - "

"Don't be ridiculous," Vikas snapped, "Skyrim wolves don't turn people by biting!"

"The boy's from Cyrodil," Farkas said, "Or did you mis-hear that soldier that was reading him his rights the other day?"

"Oh..." Vilkas hung his head, "That could be a problem. You know how savage those things can be."

Farkas shrugged, "Not always. A few can control their change, and so could this boy for that matter if he's lasted this long without changing."

"Excuse me," Irileth interrupted them, catching their attention once again, "What's the difference? A lycan is a lycan, isn't it?"

"No," both brothers said before Farkas stepped in again, "Werewolves in Cyrodil are mostly savage beasts not able to change at will, and coming out in the moon light. They can be cured with a simple potion made from wolfsbane and lavender, both deadly poisonous plants, but to a werewolf like that, it cures the disease. We," he gestured to himself and his brother, "Received our beasts from Hircine. No cure exists for us that we know of."

"Can you make this potion if he starts to change?" Irileth asked, "If he's savage, then we'll need a way to stop him if he changes."

"I know how," Vikas said, "We were both looking to cure ourselves, but the potion didn't work for us."

"Thank you," Irilet smiled, a rare sight, and sighed, "Now I must tell Lydia, she'll need to know."

"You really think that's wise?" Farkas asked, "She seems attached."

"That's why she needs to know," Irileth sighed, "It's wonderful to see her taking an interest in a man, but she may not take to him after this."

Vilkas tilted his head, "You don't have to tell her...she's just finished listening to us."

Irileth whipped around, only to see the retreating figure of Lydia running back into the hold. The Dunmer sighed, "Damn that girl...I taught her too well to move silently."

The brothers sighed as well, but kept their peace. What would happen would happen. In the meantime, they had a potion to brew...or attempt to brew.

xXx

Outside the walls of Whiterun, two guards stood bored as the day wore on, one of them yawning inside his helmet. "Blast it all, it's boring today," the man said, "To think that just three days ago, we had a full scale battle in the plains."

"Aye," said his companion, "That lad was a valiant fighter, think he'll survive?"

"Don't know," he said, "but I hope he does. A man like that, even a boy, doesn't come along very often."

"Wonder what he did to piss of the Empire, though?" Asked his companion, "Not everyday that a whole legion is sent after a single boy."

"Not sure," said the first, "Probably has something to do with the war. Lucky for the boy that Whiterun is neutral in the fighting."

His friend nodded, then looked out across the field, spotting something moving. "Uh-oh."

"Now what?"

"Looks like a platoon of horses," the first said, lifting his helmet off, "Ten...no, fourteen armed men, and one man out in front...Ack, it's a Thalmor!"

"I'll go tell the Jarl!"

"Hurry up!" He yelled, "And tell the other guards on duty to get out here!"

"Right," his friend yelled.

xXx

"WHAT DID YOU SAY!?" Balgruuf roared, nearly deafening the entire hall.

"M-my Jarl," the guard said, "A group of Imperials p-plus a Thalmor elf are come toward the city!"

The Jarl growled, slamming his fist down on his throne, "They'll be after the boy, no doubt!" He rose from his seat, "Hrongar, you and two other guards head to the boy's room and keep watch over him. Irileth, muster the Companions and have them up here on the double! Where is Lydia!?"

"I haven't seen her," Irileth sighed as she headed for the door, "She found something out about the boy that she didn't quite like."

"Wonderful," the Jarl growled, "Nelkir, Dagny, Frothar, to your rooms until I call for you!"

"But Father!" Dagny whined.

"Now!" The Jarl's roar sent the children scurrying off.

"What are we doing, My Lord?" Proventus Avenicci asked, "Do we turn him over?"

"No," Balgruuf growled, "I may not agree with the Stormcloaks, but I will not be handing that boy over to a Thalmor!"

"But - "

"No, buts!"

The doors burst open as Farkas, Vilkas, Aela, and Kodlak Whitemane strode in with Irileth right behind them. "The guards are leading the Imperials up the streets as we speak." She informed him.

"Alright, then," Balgruuf said, "Companions, I want you acting as my guards until this is settled, Irileth, you, too. Dark elves make Thalmor nervous."

"As we should," Irileth said smugly.

"Are they really after the boy?" Kodlak asked, "From what the twins tell me, he may be one of us."

"I hope he is," Aela smiled, "We could use some new blood."

"There will be blood alright," Farkas said, "But only if they try to hurt the lad."

"No one says anything to them about the boy," Balgruuf ordered, "If they ask, ignore them. If they persist, draw your swords. We will send them down the walls!"

"Sir!" The four Companions saluted, smiling along with Irileth, who rarely smiled at all. The Jarl smiled, and returned to his throne, "All of you, today I take a side in the war...and the side I take depends on the boy...I'll not ask any of you to follow me after this if my path deviates from your's."

Irileth stepped forward, "I've been at your side for years, old friend, not matter what you choose, I'm staying right here."

"As will we," Kodlak stated, "The Companions will fight for Whiterun and her Jarl."

Balgruuf smiled closing his eyes so that no one would see the tears in his eyes, "Thank you, all of you."

xXx

Hrongar and the two selected guards rounded the corner to Tarrin's room, and found Lydia leaning against the door, her arms crossed over her chest with Blood-fang looking up at her.

"So this is where you got off to?" The man asked, "We've been looking for you, Lydia."

The girl looked up at them, "I'm sorry, sir, I just had a lot to think about."

"Concerning the boy?" Hrongar asked, receiving a nod, "Look, lass, I know how you feel about werewolves, but there's a chance the lad's just that, a lad that needs a bit o' care."

"But I heard Vilkas and Farkas talking to Irileth," Lydia said quietly, "Both of them seemed so sure..."

"And that he could be cured," Hrongar said, smiling, "Not many werewolves get that sort of relief." He let this sink in, seeing the girl's face brighten, "Now, get in there, the both of you," he said, looking down at the wolf, "The Thalmor have come calling. If things turn into a fight, we'll be needed to keep the boy safe."

"The Thalmor..." Lydia murmured, "Surely they wouldn't attack a Jarl in his own city?"

"Don't know about that," one of the guards said, "Them high elves are pretty nasty, and that's saying something after being around lady Irileth for so long, and we all know how mean she can get when there's a fight to be won."

Lydia huffed, but conceded the point about her mother figure. Irileth had the temper of a dragon.

xXx

The small legion of Imperials marched into the hall with the black clad Thalmor in the lead, each one armed to the teeth, ready to fight if the need arose. The Jarl looked on in disdain as the men came into his hall, the sneering elf man holding his attention. His mighty battle ax rested at his side, just a breath away if things turned ugly.

At his side stood the companions, the four of them growling like beasts, their wolves ready for blood.

"Jarl Balgruuf," the Thalmor said in a jeering voice that he did not miss, "Lord and master of Whiterun, I come in search of a criminal guilty of crimes against the Empire. We have reason to believe that he resides here in Dragonsreach."

Balgruuf smiled, "I know not of what you speak," he said, "None in my halls or my fair city are criminals, and this criminal has no place in this hold."

The elf sneered, "Forgive me, My Lord, but I do not believe that. My sources say that you carried an injured young man matching his visage into the keep...now stop hiding him and hand him over!"

"The man your sources say we carried here," Balgruuf growled, growing angry, "Was my _bastard_ son."

"What?!" The Thalmor screeched. If the faces of Irileth, or the Companions showed any shock at the Jarl's statement, they hid it well. Balgruuf's claim had just insured the boy's safety, but had all but destroyed his reputation.

"You truly expect me to believe that? There were no reports of child of your's born from anyone other than your wife!" The Thalmor roared, "And there was certainly no reports of a _bastard_!"

"So you've been keeping tabs on me?" The Jarl sneered, and rose up from his throne, taking his ax in hand, "First you come here unannounced, demanding my _son_, and have the audacity to call me a liar," his growl intimidated the soldiers surrounding the elf, and caused all of them to back away from the Jarl as he began to advance, "Now, you tell me that you have been spying on me? Tell me, _why should I allow any of you to leave here alive_!"

The Thalmor paled, "Y-you wouldn't dare! I am an agent of the Empire! My superiors would have your head on a pike!"

"Is that a threat?" Irileth asked tonelessly, narrowing her deep red eyes, "My Jarl, perhaps you should let our Companions deal with these rude people...we wouldn't want to dirty your hands now, would we?"

At this, Aela stepped forward, smiling with a feral glee, her teeth sharpening into fangs. The Imperials gasped muttered the word, werewolf, among themselves, even the high elf seemed taken by surprise by the revelation. "You keep werewolves as guards?!"

"These _people_," Balgruuf said, stressing the word, "Are more trust worthy than any man or woman I know besides my personal housecarl, Irileth. You would do well to remember that trust in Skyrim is a large issue...and I have no trust for you, _elf_!"

"How dare you?!" The Thalmor roared, "If you do not had this boy over, then you shall be branded a rebel along with that king-slayer, Ulfric!"

"Even though the walls of Whiterun are neutral in the war," Jarl Balgruuf growled, "You would come into her halls, and brand me a traitor just for one child?" He shook his head, "So be it." He looked the Thalmor in the eyes, "Leave my city, and never return. If you do, I shall set my wolves upon the Imperial legions." He let the threat hang in the air, much to the Imperials' horror.

Yes, a legion of Imperials could take on a city, but not a group of werewolves. They had no prayer against them, that and they knew not how many of the beasts lived in the city. The Thalmor agent looked at the men and one woman. Each in turn looked strong, and dangerous even while human, if they changed...

"Fine," he growled, "We will withdraw...for now. But do not think this is the end of it, Jarl of Whiterun. You have made the Empire your enemy, and you shall suffer the consequences. You walls will crumble, and your hold will burn by our hands!"

"And you shall see just how much Whiterun's walls can take," Balgruuf growled, "This city once held a dragon captive, and you think that a simple army can bring it down, when a dragon could not? Ha! I shudder to think how many widows and orphans this battle of yours will bring when your men crash against my our walls like waves upon the sand!"

"Crash the will," the elf smirked, before whirling away with the soldiers right behind him, "And you shall know the might of the Empire!"

As the doors of Dragonsreach crashed close, Balgruuf staggered back to his throne, exhausted. "By the Divines, that was a chore!"

"Fun though," Farkas smirked, "I think one of those soldiers soiled himself when Aela grinned at him."

"I have that effect on most men that don't know how to handle a real woman," Aela said, proudly thumping her chest plate.

"That was a well planned idea, though," Irileth smiled, "Congratulations, old friend, you're now the proud father of an outlaw."

"Oh, button up you old biddy," Balgruuf growled, drawing a laugh from his guards, "We have a lot more planning to do. The farmers have been complaining about chills, and that means we're in for an early winter...this gives us time to prepare for this war." He looked at Irileth, "Send a message to the Jarl of Windhelm, and tell him we will support him, and ask him for soldiers." He turned his gaze to Kodlak, "My friend, I know you dislike your other self, but I need you to find candidates to bring into the circle," Kodlak raised his brow, "I know, I know, but we may need your men, and that includes the wolves of Jorrvaskr."

The old man sighed, "I will have to think on this, my friend, turning I'm against, but perhaps we could find a few wild ones that are more...talkative?"

"That will be fine," the Jarl smiled, "Whatever makes you more comfortable. I've heard there may be a werewolf jailed in Falkreath, see if he's there and if he is, buy him from the Jarl."

"As you wish," Kodlak said, "Aela, see to it, and Farkas, Vilkas, you two will go hunting for new blood."

"And a mate," Vilkas grinned, mirrored by his brother, making the Harbinger groan as the two set off.

"That leaves myself and Skjor to defend if the Imperials get bold," Kodlak went on, "But I worry that they might employ the Silver Hand since they know what we are now."

"Do not worry about that," the Jarl said, "I intend to triple the guard before winter comes to insure our city's safety. Not even a dragon will attack us if it values it's life."

"Do not speak of dragons," Irileth sighed, "It's bad enough that one attacked Helgen and escaped, but what if there are more?"

"Hmph," Balgruuf smiled, "I would actually welcome the dragons' return. It's been too long since we Nords have had a real fight on our hands, and far too long since the wonders of that ages have been destroyed...I haven't seen a Daedroth in a...who am I kidding? I've never seen one!"

"A monster with all the same attributes as a dragons except that it can't fly..." Irileth sighed, "Alright, I admit it, even if it's mostly monsters that have gone from the world, I would say that things have changed too much. I haven't seen a Nereid since I came to Skyrim."

Balgruuf chuckled, "Then let these dragons return and spread their magic over the world once more," he said, "If they attack us, then they will not find the frightened sheep we once were in the last age."

"The time of heroes," she smiled, "that doesn't sound so bad. Planning on making a name for yourself?"

"No, no," Balgruuf chuckled, "I'm getting too old for his adventuring thing."

"That is true, but back to the subject at hand," Irileth said, "What will we do when winter comes? The snow will be as deep as a giant is tall."

"Simple, call in all the farmers and have them store their crops for the city to use, then pay them accordingly. Make sure everyone is fed, and hope that no one gets a case of cabin fever in the next six months."

xXx

Tarrin opened his eyes, if only for a moment, looking around him. He was lying in a bed of soft, woolen blankets, and by the gods he was warm! He felt a movement on his left side, and saw the familiar furry face looking at him. "Fang?"

The wolf gave a happy yip, and licked his face. "Ack, down, boy," Tarrin chuckled weakly, shoving the wolf off him.

A door opened, startling him, and a young woman walked in with a Dunmer behind her, but it was the girl that held his attention. She was around his age, he guessed, with fair skin, and red-brown hair, and warm brown eyes. She was also dressed in steel armor like he had been. Her face lit up as she saw him.

"You're awake!"

xXx

The plains of Skyrim, covered with evergreen and hardy plant life, began to change. The wind picked up and whipped across the plains, a bitter chill coming with it. The sky above grew cloudy as snow clouds gathered, their first drops of snow falling across the land, beginning the long, deadly winter of Skyrim. Inside the palace of Dragonsreach, a small white ice wolf poked his head out the window, letting out a mournful howl as the snow began to fall, answered by his brethren.

As the snow continued to fall, the beasts of winter began to stir across the land. From the mountains came the white snow bears, and sabre cats. From the forests came the wolves, and their larger cousins the ice wolves, along with the monstrous frostbite spiders. Further North, the howl of the massive frost giants echoed throughout the land. The cold called to them, telling them that their time to rule the land had come again. For half a year, the land would belong to the beasts that called ice and snow home.

No man or elf dared the wilds in the months of winter for fear of falling victim to these beasts, but none were as feared as the cold itself. With little food to be found in the wilds, the cold season would take the lives of any that dared set foot in the snow.

Winter had come.

* * *

_**The Thalmor have made it clear that Tarrin is an enemy to them. Balgruuf has claimed him as an illegitimate son, earning the ire of the Empire, and siding himself with Ulfric Stormcloak. As Tarrin awakens, winter slips her icy veil over the land, changing the lush land into a white wasteland. As the war comes to a halt for winter, questions about the young man arise. Is the boy a werewolf as the Companions believe? And what will the Thalmor do to silence him?**_

_**Like it? Hate it? Review!**_


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